Douce Dame
by Trixter82
Summary: Just like the moon, love has a shadowside. This is a story about consequences, about love, lust, obsession and sacrifice. It is is AU after the S1 finale, no S2. Ships: RobinMarian, onesided GuyMarian and RobinOC, hints of WillDjaqAllan
1. Chapter 0: Fenix

**_A/N_:**

**Title: Douce Dame **(Fom a title of the French medieval song "Douce Dame Jolie" - meaning "Sweet Lovely Lady")**  
Author: Trixter82  
Rating: T, might be changed later on  
Warning: some violence, lust, angst  
Spoilers: S1  
Disclaimer: Only the oc:s belong to me.  
Summary: **In the shadowside of love there is obsession, lust and sacrifice, possessiveness and jealousy. What if love isn't a sweet emotion but a beast which possesses you, haunts you, warps your mind until you do not know reality from your own fantasies? Yet this is also a story about friendship and tenderness as Robin, Marian and the outlaws struggle to stand against the forces which try to tear them apart**. **How far are you willing to go for love? To every mistake there is a consequence, and there is a long and winding road before we reach the story's, rather unorthodox, happily ever after. **  
Pairings: Robin/Marian, Marian/Guy** (onesided)**, Robin/OC** (onesided)**, Will/Djaq/Allan** (hints)**, Brother Tuck/God** (lol)**  
**

**Note: This fic goes AU after the s1 finale. No s2. **

**Thanx to by darling beta Jas. **

**xxxTrixxx  
**

* * *

**Prelude: Fenix**

His name was Toc.

The weight of a lifetime had pulled his body down towards the ground so that his sagging features looked tragic and bewildered, his back hunched and his shoulders slumping. He was the kind of man who considers himself normal but is odd from any other angle than from the inside looking out. The villager's of Locksley called him Toc from the sound of a finger tapping against a skull, an empty sound which had been linked to him like yapping to a dog. 'That is Toc,' they'd say in hushed voices, 'he's a bit—you know' followed by the tapping or a finger swirling around in circles as to show that he wasn't quite right _up there. A bit of a mess in the old attic - if the wind blows into one ear it exits trough the other, if you catch my drift._ Toc had heard it all and seen the winks and smiles behind his back, or even right in front of him if the people involved were of the less modest kind. Because he was ordinary only to himself, and peculiar to anyone else, he had long ago been appointed the village fool.

Toc's life had been spent in Locksley from the blushing dawn to this the autumn of his existence. He had been born there during a bleak January morning when Sir Robert of Locksley still ruled and was a force to be reckoned with. On the day Sir Robin the younger was born, Toc had been standing outside the manor with the crowd of waiting villagers. He had rejoiced over the newborn who would eventually grow to become Robin Hood, and grieved the last Lady Locksley who died in her bed while her son was still wrapped in his swaddling clothes. Back then Toc had been a gangly lad with too many freckles and a face shaped like a Roman amphora - oblong with a narrow chin and round, protruding ears.

When young Sir Robin had left for the war Toc stood on the side and watched the grim look in Lord Locksley's face and the stubborn blankness of Robin's beloved Lady Marian. He had seen the lady turn her face and miss the last kiss she ever expected Robin to give her. When the crowd dispersed and Robin had left, Toc was there so see Marian return cloaked by the dusk. Only he had seen her young pride give away to the tears of a broken heart.

Toc had been in Locksley when the era of Gisbourne started and he would still be there when it ended. Rumours had it that it would be soon, since King Richard was once again on English soil, but Toc cared little for politics. He was a good watcher but a poor thinker, a man of few words and no conclusions, but substituted it by observing and recording the events instead. Toc had watched young master Robin come back a jaded young man and seen him go into exile into the forest. He had been there when Robin Hood was born, had still been there when Gisbourne the married and renamed village to 'New Gisbourne' in honour of his reluctant Lady. Even later Toc had stood and watched as Locksley manor burned to the ground, and listened to the villagers mumble that the name 'Gisbourne' cursed whatever it touched.

Toc was there today as well, a sad day because it was the day that they buried the second mistress to have ruled over Locksley in his lifetime. She had loved in Locksley and lived, hated and died in New Gisbourne, but they never wished to associate her with the latter name. It had cursed her as well. Now the old house with the whitewashed walls was a black skeleton in the background of Lady Marian's funeral.

Lady Marian was dead and Locksley Manor had burned to the ground. In Nottingham the sheriff had fled and people said that King Richard would be marching in any day now. Rumours had it Robin Hood had fallen victim to the dreaded fever, snatched from them with the callousness of nature, although some claimed it was a broken heart that had taken his life. Toc had recorded all these happenings and never even left the village. He stood some paces away from the rest, always accepted but treated with indulgence rather than tenderness. A bit daft, the villagers whispered and shook their heads, but the poor sod just doesn't know any better.

Locksley's roses had burned with the fire which took both the house and its mistress' life, so Marian's memorial was covered in wild flowers. The entire village had gathered around the scene and in the midst stood the loathed master of the manor clothed in black. No one comforted Guy as they had the last widowed lord of Locksley. Instead there was an empty space around him, a circle of death as if he carried the plague in its every incarnation. You could be an outsider because your mind, like Toc's, was set in a different key, or you could be an outsider because you simply were unwelcome. Guy of Gisbourne was an outsider of the latter kind. The fact was that the clumsy fool with the hunch-back was one of the people much more than the tall lord of the manor ever could be.

The priest's voice rose and sunk in a torrent of monotone Latin phrases which was understood by only a handful people, and Toc was certainly not one of the chosen few. He had started to doze off when there was an unexpected sound of a twig breaking behind him and he turned around. He peered into the dense vegetation until his focus was shifted from the leaves to the dark void of Sherwood Forest which lay behind them. A mosaic of colours appeared to move restlessly in the shadows, tiny freckles of something that did not belong to the shrubbery. Toc turned his body to face the same way as his head had twisted, leaving his back to face the crowd at the funeral. Some of the villagers glanced over at the freckled man with the giant ears. The familiar hunch on his back - caused by a lifetime of dodging away from people's eyes – was straightened and his head which had been lifted in curiosity. Then the observers shrugged and decided that no one could know what a fool was up to, and turned back to the mysterious mass wishing that it had been the master who had perished rather than their beloved mistress. Thus no one else saw the stripes of colour between the leaves which had sparked Toc's curiosity. He may be an excellent observer but no one ever expected him to observe anything of general interest.

There was a cart and a group of people dressed as jesters in the bushes, watching the funeral from their hiding place. Like a puzzle Toc patiently put the spots of colour together until he could see the picture as clearly as if they had been standing in plain sight. It took him only a moment to recognise the entertainers who had come to Nottingham for the Feast of Fools, but he noted that the ones in the foreground had not initially been a part of the group. It was a young man and a woman, standing hand in hand in one of those natural acts of intimacy which was so foreign to Toc. Under the man's emerald hood there was a stubbly jaw line and a hint of two intense eyes, while the woman's chestnut mane draped down over shoulders clothed in a rust red cloak. She had big, expressive eyes, and for a moment they widened as they turned to meet Toc's gaze. There was a flash of mutual recognition, after which she nodded a short greeting to the fool and gave him a poignant smile. Then she tugged the hand of her companion and they vanished like an apparition melting back into the shadows, leaving only leaves and emptiness in their place.

Long after they were gone Toc remained standing, gazing into the greenery. The funeral ended behind his back but the event had already been forgotten to him, confused as he was by the testament of his eyes. Somehow he knew that this was the end. He would never see them again and nor had he expected to, but he _had_ seen them one last time, he was sure of that. He had seen them even though it should have been impossible, as clear as he saw the leaves which remained in their place. Toc wondered if he should tell someone about it, but he didn't know what words to use. Even truth became false when he took it into his mouth, and there was not supposed to be such a thing as ghosts in daylight. Thus the only true witness shrugged and decided there and then that it was easier to forget all about it.

This is the very last story about Robin Hood, and this is how it ends.

---

This is how it begins.

Once again Allan-a-Dale had not returned to the outlaw camp until daybreak. When he came strolling lazily into the glen the rest of the outlaws were already up and gathered around a sparkling fireplace, leaping up the first rays of sun like lizards. Birds chattered loudly in the euphoria of spring as Allan stumbled into the domestic scene of lawless forest life with a yawn.

"Honey, I'm home," he grinned at them. "Bloody hell, I'm starving. Smells nice 'ere. Wha's for supper, Much?"

"Oh you are starving, are you?" Much responded with a scowl. "It's breakfast! And where exactly have you been?"

"Me?" Allan said innocently as he slumped down against a fallen tree, sprawling out comfortably on the bed of leaves. "I've just been to see a mate o' mine. A nice little lass called Bec. She works in the castle though, so you could say I've been up all night working, really. Gathering information or whatever."

Coming from anyone else those last sentences might have been meant as a joke, but being Allan, his concept of 'work' was notoriously vague and bendable. Will looked up to give him a tired smile while Djaq cocked her eyebrow indulgently, nudging Little John to share the amusement. John glared at her briefly, then grunted and rolled his eyes. He was not much of a morning person.

"And what did this work amount to Allan?" Robin asked softly with a knowing smirk on his lips.

"Well, y'know—stuff," Allan shrugged casually. "Like 'er telling me the sheriff's out of town. He's left Guy in charge. Left 'im with 'is ring. That's how she knew, my lass, see? Guy had Vaysey's signet ring. She's a clever little cookie, you 'ave to give her that." Allan leaned down to snatch a piece of bread from Much's 'kitchen', munching on it loudly. "Fancy wha' you could do with a ring like that, ey Robin?" he mused with his mouth full of bread crumbs. "All sorts of mishap."

"Yes," Robin murmured absently as an idea slowly started to sprout in his head. Vaysey's signet ring, the hawk, was a treasured possession for the vain sheriff as well as a precious tool, ensuring the validity of his documents and correspondences. "It could be useful."

"That's wha' I said," Allan grinned and shoved a piece of dried meat into his mouth before Much had time to stop him. "Look Much, I've been working, a'right?" he sighed. "A toiling man cannot very well live off porridge can 'e?"

"_Toiling!_" Much exclaimed indignantly, ignoring the muffled laughter from the other outlaws. "You have been gallivanting around, _wooing_ the skirts off tavern wenches, all night, and now you'll be sleeping half the day while we do all the work planning the raid on the castle's grain supplies!"

"Stealing bread," Allan murmured with a yawn. "I could do that with my eyes tied while juggling a set on knives and walking backwards across a tightrope."

"Wouldn't that leave your hands otherwise occupied?" Will asked with a sardonic smile.

"I'd use my feet. Now will you shut up, this working lad needs 'is beauty sleep or there won't be any more nifty pieces of castle gossip." Allan yawned and covered his eyes with a piece of embroidered linen cloth which looked suspiciously like something a woman would be carrying around.

A comfortable silence fell around the circle of outlaws and Much resumed his cooking, stirring the porridge with a large wooden ladle. He had a sour look on his face and his eyes kept finding their way back to Robin, whose lips had been absently pulled into a mischievous smirk.

"I know that look," Much finally stated. "Whatever it is you are thinking, the answer is no."

"I am going to steal that ring," Robin stated with a smile and raised a playful eyebrow at his old friend.

"Nope, you are not doing that."

"Yes I am. While you raid the grain supplies."

"No, and definitely no! We need you and besides, you cannot do it on your own."

"Much! Don't think so little of yourself," Robin grinned flippantly. "You will do just fine without me. I will be swiftly in, swing around Vaysey's study and then take a quick escape through the window above the food storage. It will be over and done with within half an hour."

"'alf an hour," Allan snorted sluggishly. "Maybe if you're planning on taking the guided tour while you're at it."

"You heard Allan, Much," Robin smiled and clapped his hands together, stretching his morning-lazy limbs with a sigh. "It's a piece of cake!"

"I heard Allan," Much scoffed. "Doesn't mean I listened to him, and you shouldn't either. Besides, Marian won't like this one bit you know."

"Enough," Robin sighed and tossed over his wooden bowl to Much, who caught it clumsily and started to ladle porridge into it. "I'm doing it, end of discussion. What Marian does not know will not hurt her—or me for that matter," he added thoughtfully.

Much hesitated, unwilling to let go of his objections, then simply gave out a dejected sigh and dropped the bowl of porridge in Robin's knee, spilling a few lumps on the laced trousers. "Fine," he murmured bitterly. "It's not like anyone listens to me anyway."

Robin smiled and shoved a spoon of porridge into his mouth, gobbling it down hungrily. "Sure we do," he grinned between two bites. "We always listen when you call us to a meal."

Much shrugged and sunk into a sulking silence, leaving the camp to dig into the early breakfast meal which he had so lovingly prepared for them.

Just like a signet ring seals a treaty, the path of this story was determined in this moment - fates sealed and signed in the early morning hour. An idea, however impossible, refused to leave Robin alone once it had gained footing, and this fix idea with the ring was no different. His mind was working with more verve than the spoon which swiftly scooped up the porridge, randomly completing the details of the new plan. This coup would irk the sheriff, and he in return would lash out at Guy, thus serving to sweeten Robin's victory some more. It was ingenious, on the verge of inspired, and it made Robin giddy with excitement.

Sadly though, it was also doomed to fail.

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**_Next: _Robin gets a nasty surprise**


	2. Chapter 1: Iron

**Chapter 1: Iron**

The soft-soled boots made a faint swishing sound when Robin Hood dashed down the corridor of Nottingham Castle, accompanied by a rhythmic tapping as the scabbard bounced against his thigh. He moved in big leaps, his breathing deep but steady, and a wide grin of early triumph was already painted across his face. The plan and gone off without a hitch - that was the testament of Robin's twinkling eyes and the treasure which he had tucked into his quiver.

His role had been the only hazardous part of the outlaws' raid to the castle, but in return it had been rather overly risky. The initial plan, to steal some grain and meat from the castle supplies, had been fairly safe and routine in comparison. It only touched the periphery of Nottingham Caste, the place which Will occasionally referred to as 'evil's stronghold', and they had many ways to make swift escape if necessary. It had been the deal with the signet ring which upped the stakes. 'Robin's obsession' Much had called it during his loud complaints, but to his dismay the outlaw leader had merely shrugged off his objections like one waves away a fly.

Grain was good - necessary for the starving farmers and townspeople - but the mission to steal such basic goods was prosaic and lacked that certain romantic air which was so tempting to the outlaw leader. Robin was a man of visions and ideals and in his perspective nicking bread seemed unsatisfying. As born and bred a nobleman, he simply couldn't see bread making much difference in the big picture. This, however, was something completely different. This was the stuff legends were woven from. It was bold and perilous - the act of a cocky freedom fighter rather than a lawless marauder. Thus Robin had been sneaking around in Vaysey's personal chambers, far above his companions in the store rooms, and with only a single escape route planned. The plan simply had to go off without a hitch, since there weren't much of a backup. Robin's agile body was charged with adrenaline and tingled from the excitement as he moved through the castle, a silent ecstasy which ultimately was born from greed. It may not be the kind of selfish greed which the sheriff possessed, but it was greed all the same – greed for life and in that living surpassing every boundary.

Robin allowed himself a hoarse laughter as he stopped and pressed his back towards the wall glancing into an adjoining corridor. No guards yet, but they would come. After all, you did not wander straight into Vaysey's bedroom and stole his personal seal without anyone noticing. He smirked and started to reach for his quiver, longing to hold the bird shaped signet ring in his hand again, but stopped himself in the movement. He would have all the time in the world to weigh the heavy piece gold in his palm, thinking of all the possible ways he could exploit the trinket.

He needed to get to the right window - that was the final stage of the plan which he had sketched up during the last two days. Once he got there the cart with the sacks of grain would be conveniently parked below and he just had to jump. Granted, the fall might hurt a little, but now that Marian had started to warm up to him Robin really didn't mind a bruise or two. The scruffier he looked the more his lady would fuss over him, reprimanding him for his recklessness as she pressed her delicate fingers against his battered body. That was the kind of pain he would savour, Robin mused as he got lost in a pleasant daydream - a lock of Marian's hair tickled his chest as she bent down and fingered the nasty bruise on his shoulder, enveloping him in an intoxicating smell of smoke from a fireplace and lavender which made him blush right through the fantasy.

Robin's boots slipped against the stones as he suddenly realized that he had taken a wrong turn and came to an abrupt halt. He pressed his lips together and took a few cautious steps back, when his ears picked up on some commotion down that direction. Metal clashing into more metal and confused shouting echoed between the walls as the guards finally sounded the alarm, although it seemed like a rowdy chase. It always astonished Robin how poorly organized the Nottingham guards were, when a good set of disaster guidelines would have increased the castle's security tenfold. He thought better of turning back and instead he lingered for a while, calmly planning a new route to the window, before he smiled and continued down the corridor. The sound of the guards bounced from wall to wall and Robin's soles drummed against the naked floor. Even though his steps were muffled as if they merely grazed the stones, his nimble movements were more rushed and his breathing sharper. When he reached the door to a guest chamber which he knew could be used as a passage to another corridor, his heart was pounding hard from the run. A cold sweat trickled down his back as he shoved the door open.

To his surprise the room was inhabited. There were embers glowing in the hearth and the bed was an entangled mess of cloth and human limbs. A woman yelped in shock when Robin ran across the room, taking a leap over the bedstead and planting his foot between four pair of legs that were sprawled out and seemingly entwined into each other. He couldn't avoid taking a brief look, recording the shoulders of a man who had a halo of whitening hair surrounding his naked scalp. The lady who had given away the yelp was placed below him. She had her eyes wide open and her mouth formed into a rather attractive 'o' as she leaned on her elbows and stared at the intruder. One of her naked breasts was uncovered behind the bodice of her bedfellow, whose face seemed incredibly red as he turned to Robin. The outlaw made a little bow before he leaped down on the floor, gingerly grabbing the lady's hand and planting a kiss upon it. He gave her his most coaxing grin and she gasped, staring wide-eyed as the chivalric outlaw backed off in an air of exaggerated, and a bit rushed, graciousness.

"Fair Madam, good Sir, apologies for the interruption," Robin panted jovially and headed for the door on the opposite side of the room, "please do continue."

The door slammed shut behind him and he could hear the man's voice give out a high pitched cry for the guards. This was not exactly according to plan, but it would have to do, Robin thought has he had given up all thoughts of caution and started to flee down another corridor. He wasn't far from the window, his escape, but the sound of the guards was closing in on him. They moved like men with a goal now, not the random chaos that had marked the first part of the chase. For the first time during the mission Robin was starting to feel worried. He focused on his own movements, his breathing strained and the joy of the mission subdued by the approaching danger. Just one more turn, then he would be safe, just one more turn—

He turned, took a few steps into the new corridor with a victorious smile, then stopped abruptly and stared.

_Bars!_

Robin's breath caught in his throat and his chest constricted. There shouldn't be metal bars over this window! No, no, no! He ran up to the window and grabbed hold of the iron, wrenching it violently. Yet it didn't yield, wasn't as much as disturbed by his attempts. He tried again, putting the sole of his boot against the wall and leaning his entire weight on the bars. Not until his hands were so sweaty that they slid off the metal did he give in with a panicking whimper of a trapped animal. He stood up and pounded angrily on the bars with his palms. _Bars!_ Why were there bars on the window!? How come they had missed this!? His chest heaved his struggling breaths, something desperately much like fear building up in his stomach. Just outside the window freedom lay - a cart stood parked right there, below the window, ready to carry him home. Yet he couldn't reach it!

He grabbed a handful of hair on his head and tugged it as if the pain would make it easier to think. Think Robin! There must be another way out! A sudden burst of stubborn defiance caused him to pull out the pouch with Vaysey's ring from his quiver and toss it out between the bars. At least his last – no, he corrected himself, _possibly_ last – mission might be a successful one, even if he perished in the process. He stared to walk hurriedly back down the corridor, watching the plain walls in search for a door or an adjoining passageway. The sound of the guards became louder and he stared to feel sick, cursing his own recklessness. This had been a foolish mission to begin with, and he didn't even bother to check all the details properly!

Shadows of people closing in on him were reflected on the wall and he took a sudden turn into a small passage, only to realize that it was a dead end. He could count to three doors and started to pull the first one violently. When it didn't yield he shook the next one, then the third. A wave of relief rolled over him when it gave in to his attempts, and he stumbled into a dusky room, seemingly used as some sort of linen closet. Quickly he scanned the walls for a window and found one, situated high up and covered by a wooden shutter. He climbed on the shelves to reach it, and as the guards turned into the corridor behind the door Robin tore the shutters open.

Bars.

Robin's heart sunk like a stone when he saw that the window behind the shutter had been covered by metal bars as well. He shook them half-heartedly, then leaned his forehead against the cold iron and contemplated his choices. He could try to hide or stay and fight. Either way he was likely to fail, but hiding bought him more time. Thus he lay flat on the shelf, pushing his body to the wall and ducking behind some stacks of sheets, when the guards entered the room. The linen smelled vaguely of lavender and Robin shut his eyes, inhaling the scent which reminded so much of Marian. In the darkness he could almost imagine this being her bed. Even the reprimanding voice in his head belonged to her.

"_Fool,"_ Marian chastised him behind his closed eyes. "_What were you thinking going to the castle like that? You could have been killed!"_

Marian. He had planned to go to her once this was done, show her Vaysey's heavy signet ring with a triumphant smirk on his lips and have her tend to his bruises in her normal, rather ungentle way. When she chastised him he would smile and steal a kiss, responding in cocky nonchalance as he always did. _But I wasn't killed, was I, my love? Lucky me._

This day Robin Hood wasn't lucky. The guards searched the room so meticulously that Robin instinctively realized that Guy must be close by. When two big hands finally tore away the bundle of linen which hid him, he put his hands to the wall and kicked the guard with both his feet. The man tumbled down with a surprised yell and Robin leaped after him, landing smoothly on his feet with a light thud. Instantly he moved to a fighting stance and unsheathed his blade, ducked as a halberd was swung at him and raised his Saracen blade to meat a heavy English two-hand sword. He parried it easily and fended off a few other clumsy attempts, but it soon became clear that his position was a hopeless one. The room filled up with more and more guards and there was no way that he could reach the door.

"Cease!" a menacing voice snarled from the corridor and the guards instantly backed off a step, leaving Robin surrounded by a wall of unmoving weapons which all pointed at him. As he waited for Guy to make his way into the room he arranged his features into a mocking grin and composed himself best he could.

"Hood," Guy jeered when he finally stood face to face with his prey. "All is lost - put down your weapon. That ridiculous bow as well, I'm sure it could be used for something. Firewood, perhaps." He smiled in open contempt and Robin's cocky grin wavered for a moment as he wondered whether to fight this. Then the warrior in him, or perhaps it was Marian's voice still reprimanding him for being too reckless, caused him to swallow his pride and throw down the sword. The bow and the quiver followed and he raised his palms in capitulation.

"Bars," he smiled mirthlessly. "Well done, Gisbourne."

"I thought you might like them," Guy smirked back. "I put them in just for you."

"How very thoughtful of you."

"Yes, I rather think so. Gerome!" Guy called out, and a man made his way into the room. Robin recognized the man who entered as the one who he had disrupted while dashing through the guest chamber. He was younger than Robin had initially thought, scarcely older than Gisbourne by the look if his skin, although the circle of gray hair made him look washed out and beyond his years. He had a thin, straight mouth and his face was completely dominated by a bulky nose which looked spongy and red. Much to Robin's surprise he was a rather small and timid man. He had seemed huge compared to the woman who shared his bed, but standing next to Guy he was short-limbed and had a tentative look on his face. The skin under his eyes was sagging and all in all he gave the appearance of a pathetic, almost comical, figure.

"This is Gerome LeChas," Guy drawled. "He is the sheriff's most recent—friend."

"We have met already," Robin responded as he watched the sheriff's guest. "Please send my regards to your blushing wife."

"His wife?" Guy scoffed.

"I am not married, as such." Gerome pointed out in a feeble, almost feminine voice. "I think you may be referring to my lady friend."

"Oh, pardon me, my mistake," Robin smiled in mock courtesy.

"One of many," Guy snarled. "You can thank Gerome for the bars, Hood."

"That was just common sense," Gerome smiled dryly. "Some parts of the castle, most notably the dungeons obviously, had been aimed primarily to keep people in, while others - like the section in which we are now standing - seemed planned to keep people out. I merely gave a thought to the castle as an entity. I find it rather surprising that no one has considered it before, really."

"Indeed," Guy scoffed, giving Gerome a look full of contempt. "Gerome has been employed as a defensive strategist."

"A practical philosopher, actually."

"Pardon?"

"I'm, excuse me, Sir Guy," Gerome smiled condescendingly, "but I am a philosopher, and, actually, currently under great stress to finish what will be my 'Magic Opium'."

"You mean 'Magnum Opus' I think," Robin corrected him absently as his head raced to keep up with the information. He had little interest in the man's philosophical masterpiece, but why had the sheriff employed him? Vaysey was raising the stakes – finding new ways to get to the outlaws – and when the sheriff raised the stakes he was doubtlessly going to get increasingly cruel.

"Philosopher," Guy jeered. "Strategist. Drug dealer. The sheriff's new pet. It makes little difference. I wanted Hood to see the man who finally became his ruin. It didn't need an army, Locksley. You're an arrogant fool who laid your own snare and danced over it. You can leave now, LeChas. Go back to you 'wife'"

"Her name is Amice, I'd refrain from mocking her if I was you," Gerome stated haughtily. "When the sheriff sees that my work has succeeded in catching your hooded robin _you _will be the pet and _I _will be holding the leash, Sir Guy."

"Leave!" Guy barked. The philosopher recoiled and wrinkled his face as if disgusted by the sheriff's brute henchman, making a quick escape through the door. Robin stared after him and wished it would be that easy for him to simply walk away from this room, but he knew when he was trapped and this was bad. If the sheriff had employed a man simply to straighten up the castle's defences then it would prove difficult to run away from the imprisonment, not to mention dangerous to try and save him. Yet his men would try and Marian would try. He felt his shoulders slump as his wrists were locked into heavy iron shackles by Guy's own hands, a mocking grin in the grim face he had grown to loathe with such passion. Then Guy gripped hold of Robin's hood, tearing it a little as he lifted the chained outlaw towards him and put his lips to his ear.

"Do you like your new jewellery?" he hissed, spraying saliva over Robin's face as he spat out the words. "It's the last you will ever wear, Hood. Your men are few and I will make sure that every guard in Nottingham, _every guard_, is guarding you, _only you_. I will torture you - humiliate you - until there is nothing left. Then I will lead Marian to you - make her see the pathetic nobody I have reduced the peoples' great hero to - her people, _her _hero. The populous all whisper betrayal – says she scorned me for an outlaw. This will be _her_ trial. You have already been convicted. If she cries for you I will kill her. But if she turns her back," he exhaled the air from his lungs into an almost nonchalant sigh, "well, I will show mercy. She will be spared." He laughed dryly. "But she _will _cry, we both know that, Hood. She is a woman – her heart is weak and easily shattered. Marian's tears for you will damn her - _you_ will damn her. Not so mighty now, are you? A common criminal. A thief. Whatever you did to blind Marian will drive her off the cliff. She has no vision to guide her and no sense to help her survive the snare you charmed her into."

Robin swallowed hard and tried to find a suitable response, jerking back as Guy let go of him, but the thought of Marian being put on trial made his throat constrict by sheer terror - strangling him where he stood helplessly shackled. He could have killed himself, he thought in agony, and regretted that he had not thrown himself on his sword instead of using it against the guards. The fight had been futile from the start, merely buying him a few more days when he would be imprisoned, humiliated and tortured.

Robin Hood never gave up - there was always a chance. Yet the pursuit after that faint possibility of a rescue may have doomed the people he loved the most. The guilt was so suffocating and fierce that it took all his strength not to give out a whimper of pain.

It was the fact that Robin was not willing to give Guy the satisfaction of seeing him crumple by the power of words alone, which gave him strength to cock his head and met Guy's eyes brashly in defiance.

"You love her too," he responded calmly. "Either way, you have already lost, Gisbourne. The lady was never yours."

The smirk in Guy's face died out and was replaced by fury. He backed away a step and lifted his arm to lash out against Robin's insolent face, determined to cow the cocky outlaw with brutal force. Yet in that moment Robin welcomed the pain and the darkness as if it had been a favour. Unconsciousness, even torture, was to prefer before the agony he endured as the future now stretched out before him, and thus he savoured the physical pain and let it envelop him. _Blessed sleep.  
_  
The last thing Robin recorded was a black leather fist being plunged at him, resulting in a moment of intense pain - then everything went blissfully dark.

-------------------------------------------

_NEXT: Marian makes a dire decision._

* * *

**_A/N:_ Thnx for the comments on the last chapter. It is much appreciated. **

**xxxTrixxx**


	3. Chapter 2: Rain

**Chapter 2: Rain**

He didn't come.

The outlaws had waited under the chosen window, Much nervously pacing, Little John leaning on his staff, Allan 'resting his feet', Will carving and Djaq sitting cross-legged between him and the slumbering Allan. Much's neck hurt from being tilted, his eyes firmly set on the window like a loyal dog awaiting his master's return, but the only thing that changed was the guards and the shadows which moved slowly across the ground. It was when Allan moaned about getting sun in his eyes and was forced to shift place that they all began to realize that Much's anxiety might be more than merely his usual paranoia. The guards changed a second time, with the new ones casting suspicious glances at the scruffy farmers with the cart who loitered by the castle wall. The guards rarely sounded the alarm, generally being either too lazy or harbouring some deeply rooted resentment towards their job, but the outlaws still never stayed over two guard-changes. _Never. _Robin would not jeopardise their safety by having them wait so long. Something _was_ wrong.

The sound of Will's carving knife became choppy with long pauses when the knife's blade just rested on the wood and the young man's face followed Much's eyes. They were all growing nervous, their faces seeking out the window from which Robin should come flying into freedom. As a result Much had changed his woe from 'I don't like this, something is wrong' to 'I _told you_ something was wrong'. Blaming them made it easier to bare the fear, even though Allan kept sneering that he should shut up, accompanied by increasingly colourful insults.

Then the small leather pouch travelled in a wide arch from the window, bouncing once as it landed on the grain. Djaq picked it up and held the ring in her hand while they wavered between hope and disbelief. At first they had expected that Robin would follow any time, then that expectation turned into hope and at last merely a dream which they clung to as they hearts grew heavy with resignation. Eventually Little John moved back to get a better view over the window and grimly stated that it was covered by metal bars.

They had been forced to leave. The guards grew suspicious and they had no way of knowing where Robin was. A faint rain had started to drizzle over Sherwood when the outlaws carried the heavy sacks of grain into the forest, faces set in stern determination as they toiled together in silence. They reached the dense vegetation of the inner wood where the serpentine paths of wild animals crossed their path. This, the heart of their kingdom, was usually a place where they felt safe, but now the silence was uncanny. Much discarded the sacks on the ground with a thud and halted abruptly, throwing out his arms in dejection.

"Oh what now!?" Allan called out and rolled his eyes. What _he _wanted, had anyone cared, was to get back to camp to sleep, or to eat, or to—think. His insides were in a bloody mess and he wasn't entirely sure that he could blame the strange feeling in his stomach on Much's cooking. He needed-- _solitude_.

"This is wrong!" Much exclaimed in a whining tone which made Allan wince as he and the other outlaws turned to the interruption. "Robin--" Much continued.

"He did not come, Much," Little John stated calmly.

"We cannot leave him behind!" Much called out. "He is our leader! Our friend! Well – well he is _my_ friend, anyway, and he—he cannot—we cannot!"

"If we stayed we would all get caught," Djaq responded in a voice which was compassionate but relentless. "Dead men cannot save anyone."

Silence fell between them again, and even though Much's eyes were pleading he knew it was in vain. They were right, and he hated them for it.

"Someone will 'ave to tell Marian," Allan finally broke the silence and leaned his sore back to a tree. Those sacks of grain were heavy, but you couldn't take a cart into the forest without having to take dangerous detours. When the outlaws looked at him he shrugged. "We don't 'ave to do it _now_, mind you. I'm just saying, y'know," he shrugged again, absently wondering why he was choosing to tell them this at all. It was a whole lot of trouble for something that didn't _directly _concern him. "We can't 'ave Guy rubbing it in her face, can we? She'd be cross."

"I suppose," Will admitted reluctantly and looked over at Djaq. "Well, you're a woman—also," he pointed out, gaining an indignant glare from the little Saracen.

"And why would that matter?" she scoffed in her characteristically singsong accent, more pronounced now that she was upset. "I do not even know this Lady Marian!"

"Yeah but you know 'ow to talk about that kind of girly, maudlin stuff though, don't you?" Allan responded.

"And how exactly is 'your boyfriend got stuck in the castle' girly stuff?" Djaq cocked her head and faced the two men with the entire force of her ire, making Allan grin flippantly while Will creased his forehead in anxiety.

"Djaq is right," Much interrupted the argument. "I mean, she makes a _terrible _woman." Djaq flinched and took step towards Much, her hands knitted into little fists, and he backed off with his hands raised in a peace offering. Of course it only meant that in English, Djaq mused annoyed at the sight of Much's trembling hands. Where she came from such a gesture, with palms wide open, was vulgar to the extent that she found herself cringing. "I mean, you are a great mate- man- _hu_-man, I mean," Much stuttered as he saw Djaq's frown deepen to something resembling disgust. "Besides, I should do it. At least Marian cares for Robin." Much gave the gang of outlaws an accusing look to enforce the sentiment.

"We all care, Much," Little John stated with a sigh as he walked back to heave up Much's sacks of grain and throw them across his free shoulder. Allan opened his mouth to complain about it the weight being unfairly distributed between the outlaws, since Much now had none while he had two, but John silenced him with a glare. "Knighton is east," he grunted and tilted his head in the general direction of Marian's residence. "Take it easy on the lass."

Much nodded and watched as the greenery closed behind Allan's sluggish figure before he started to walk briskly in the direction of Knighton Hall.

---

The time which had passed since Marian had left Gisbourne by the altar and her father had been saved from the sheriff, had been a time of intense suspense for the noble family. Sir Edward been waiting nervously in agony over the moment when they would inevitably be forced to pay the price of the treason, but so far the sheriff's game had been subtle. All in all they were kept waiting, fearing what might come since they knew that the sheriff was not a man to forgive and forget, and meanwhile Vaysey's hired men watched Knighton Hall more openly than before. Perhaps that was the sheriff's plan, Sir Edward mused - to unsettle them until their souls crumpled to dust? Since Sir Edward was at heart a noble, and once upon a time a man of great influence, it never crossed his mind that he simply wasn't a big enough threat for the sheriff to spend his days planning a devious vengeance on him.

As a result Marian was forbidden to leave her room unchaperoned. So afraid was Edward that the revenge would be aimed at his daughter that he became a double prison for the young woman, and Marian did not have the heart to openly disobey him. Edward spent most of his time in his study, writing his old friends letters which he burned rather than had the courage to send. He would mutter to himself, at first when he thought he was alone, then even when Marian was right in front of him, and his features were always haunted by an increasing paranoia. The old man had seen such a rapid decline in his general health of mind and body that Marian found herself fearing, not for the first time, the prospect of being left completely alone in this world.

In all this uncertainty Marian had unexpectedly found Robin to be a spot of tranquillity of the eye of the storm, in spite of his mere presence being a threat to her life and his arrogance as infuriating as ever. He was the reason, the cause and the solution, Marian's curse and her solace. The days when he came to her and she was too worn out and troubled to be much of a companion, he cradled her silently with a maturity of mind which she did not recall from the old days. The man who was always on his way somewhere else - that was how she had thought of him once – but now he seemed to be always on his way to her, as if drawn there even when he knew he shouldn't. He had even ceased arguing with her about the Nightwatchman, although it was to humour her rather than being particularly convinced about the necessity of her charity work. Because Marian was so restricted in her role as Marian these days, she had found that the Nightwatchman was an almost necessary addition to her life in order not to suffocate. Robin did not truly have any saying in the matter.

On this night Marian came back to her room in the pitch-black darkness of the small hours, sweaty and out of breath but with the fresh smell of the forest filling her senses and an air of freedom flowing through her body like a softly burning energy.

In spite of being exhausted Marian could feel the foreign presence in the very moment she entered her room – the subtle feeling of another person taking up space there even though she could not see or hear him. Her lips were drawn into a smile and she straightened her back, combing her fingers through her hair as she let it out from the tight bud. Apart from a few glowing embers in the fireplace the room was cold and blue, and Marian felt a trickle of excitement as she imagined the heat of Robin's body encircling her small frame, his breaths heavy against her skin and his fingers gently probing her body outside the cloth. She removed the cloak and looked down on her dishevelled Nightwatchman's outfit, then decided to unbutton the vest and untie the lace on the shirt a little bit, revealing a trembling collarbone and skin which shone white in the moonlight. Just to tease him, Marian mused, to wake that sparkle of lust in his eyes which made feel so—which made her_ feel_—and draw his damp kisses to her neck.

"Don't you know how to knock?" she asked into the darkness with a small smile and waited for Robin's hoarse laughter as he made himself known. Yet there was no laughter, just the sound of a breath catching and cloth rubbing together as a body shifted nervously. "Robin?" Marian continued and turned around, the excitement instantly turned into fear. "Is that you? What is wrong?" She backed off and put her hand on warily her dagger. A movement in the corner of her eye caused her to swing around and leap at the intruder. The attack was so swift that all he had time to do was turn his back to her in an attempt to move away from the silvery dagger. Marian's hand wrenched his arm around his back and pressed the dagger against his throat in one smooth movement.

"Ah stop it, it's me! It, ah, it's me!"

Marian flinched and moved away as fast as she had overpowered the visitor.

"Much!" she exclaimed, "What are you doing here?!"

Much shifted his weight with a nervous smile and stroked his hand over the blond hair. When he didn't answer Marian realized that her shirt was bordering on indecent, and thinking that this was the reason of his discomfort she swiftly moved her hand to pinch the vest together over her chest.

"Much, what is wrong? Why are you here?" she asked again with all the authority she could master as she tried not to blush. It wasn't until Much opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again with a look full of despair that the chill started to spread through Marian's body. If Much was here like this, then surely the only reason must be—no, it couldn't be like that. Robin was fine. Robin would always be fine. Wasn't he? "Where is Robin?" she insisted. "Why didn't he come? He sends his men to talk to me now? Surely we are beyond that?" During their mutual youth Much had sometimes been forced to act as a messenger between the two shy young lovers, but this was different. If Robin had sent him then Much wouldn't have been lost for words like this. The fear rose into a torrent of cold terror inside Marian and her heart started thudding so hard that it almost hurt.

"He's—Robin is," Much tried, then stopped again.

_He's—Robin is—_what? Dead? Injured? Captured? Married? Marian took a trembling breath and forced herself to keep calm. "Sit down," she ordered Much. "Tell me what has happened."

Much hesitated before he sat down on the edge of a chair, his back straight and his hands on his knees. "We were in the castle," Marian heard him explain. "Only Robin didn't come out. We waited--"

Marian stared at Much, her look blank. "What do you mean he did not come out?" she asked. "What were you doing in the castle?!"

"Grain," Much said feebly. "We were stealing grain. But, well, the sheriff is out of town, so then Robin thought—well, he thought he could go in and steal his signet ring."

Marian's chest deflated in a sigh, her legs went soft and weak and forced her to sit down on the bed. "Fool!" she breathed.

"We waited!" Much rambled now that he finally found his tongue again. "He threw out the ring, but then we saw that there were bars. I mean, he could be fine, right? He could be—taking a different way out of the castle. He could be in the camp already. Yes, I'm sure he is. He must be!"

Marian met his pleading eyes and forced herself to smile. "If the sheriff is gone then I can go to the castle. Guy won't do anything when Vaysey is away - he is too afraid to make a mistake," she responded numbly. "We will get him out. Do not worry."

"I'm not worried!" Much insisted. "I'm just—concerned, that is all. And quite rightly so, I must add."

As silence fell between them Much watched Marian's hands clench around her bedspread, her nails digging into the cloth. The air was so tense with worry that the words he just uttered felt ridiculous, a lie which cast its bizarre shadow over the scene. Without a sound he moved to sit on her side and planted his hand platonically on hers, cautiously patting it while he awkwardly looked in a different direction.

With a grateful smile Lady Marian Fitzwalter took Much's hand, let her head dip down and cried.

---

Marian had not been in the castle at all lately. Her father had forbidden it and she had not felt inclined to flout him. She would have been the last to admit it but Guy scared her, but it was the truth which her body reminded her of every time she spotted his dark figure. What little she had seen of him – the mixture of yearning and fury in his eyes, the cold hate and bitter love which roamed beneath the wall of black leather - sent a cold shiver down her spine. His mood was caused by and aimed at her - she was the reluctant source and focus of all that dark energy. At times Marian had almost spilled her fear to Robin in hope to quench it, but in his desire to protect her from all harm she feared that he would have used the knowledge against her. Thus she kept it to herself, locked in with the guilt and shame which Robin never would be able to understand at all. Guy may not be a particularly sympathetic human being, but just like the next man he had been born with a beating heart. Her actions had hurt him and because of that she felt ashamed.

It was the fear, however, which took precedence over the shame as the cart which held lady Marian closed in on Nottingham Castle. Much had stayed trough most of the night, even as she told him to leave, silent and awkward while he refused to leave her alone. He had murmured some muddled words about promising Robin to protect her if something happened to him, but Marian suspected that Much did it for his own fear as well. She had cursed him for it, but when he was finally forced to leave by the approach of daylight, the suffocating loneliness had almost overpowered her. It had taken all her strength to bite down the tears and stand up straight as she chose her best dress from the linen closet and sprawled the fine cloth across her bed. For a while she had stared at the beauty, stroked her fingers across the fabric to feel the texture and inhaled the faint whiff of lavender, which clung to pieces which spent more time buried deep in the closet than on her body or in her room. It was laced in the sides so she could get dressed on her own, but once the heavy cloth draped around her legs it felt like a burden. It weighed her down when she slumped in her chair, carefully brushed out the unkempt curls and powdered away the redness from her tearstained face. Her eyes were sore and the makeup burned, but Lady Marian was used to carrying masks. Once she was done the blushing cheeks and wide eyes seemed innocent like a child, but there was steel behind her gaze. At any cost she had to see Robin. At any cost she had to save him. At _any _cost.

The swishing of the dress sounded heavy when she walked up the stairs of Nottingham Castle, back straight and face frozen in determination. She had expected Guy to be surprised to see her, but when she reached the top of the stairs he stood with the outline of a grim smile on his lips.

"Sir Guy," Marian greeted him with a faint curtsey. His lips twitched, but she didn't know if he cringed or tried to smile.

"Lady Marian," he responded in a sluggish tone. "I have expected you."

"Indeed, Sir Guy?" she smiled edgily and tried to hide the raging emotions behind a wall of strained pleasantries. "I decided just now to visit. You must read my mind before I read it myself."

"I doubt that," Guy murmured to himself, then took a deep breath and showed her the door. "Shall we?"

Marian tried to move but found herself frozen to the ground. The door to Nottingham Castle opened up like a fetid scar, dark and threatening, and her instincts all told her to run. Run from the fake smiles and courteous mannerism of this man who hated her, run from the castle which threatened to swallow her hole, run from the stifling dress and the layers of brocade which made it impossible to run at all. Yet she could not. Robin was in there, and even though she felt a foul apprehension reverberate through her body she forced her legs to move and her mouth to smile.

"You wish to visit the dungeons, I gather?" Guy asked as he followed and the heavy door slammed shut behind them. Marian's heart made a leap of terror and her eyes were wide when she turned to Guy. In the dusky corridor they looked like Chinese porcelain, white and round, with large, black pupils. "You want to see the outlaw?" Guy continued when she didn't respond, as if it was an exotic animal on display in the cellar.

For a moment Marian wondered if she should deny it, but the need to see Robin was stronger. For whatever reasons Guy had to behave this way, her denial to see Robin now would be rendered useless when she inevitably had to ask the sheriff's henchman for access to the dungeons later on.

"Yes," she thus smiled with forced playfulness. She took Guy's arm and tried to hide her reluctance at the sensation of the sticky leather. "I do wish to see the prisoner."

Outside a new day was dawning but for everyone involved their lives had just begun to move steadily into dusk. Lady Marian's dress brushed the stones that paved the sturdy corridor of Nottingham Castle as she waked with forced lightness into the ominous shadow-side of love which was to become her prison.


	4. Chapter 3: Decay

**Chapter 3: Decay**

Marian's eyes were widened in shock as they studied Robin's bruised body. He had lifted his eyes in defiance when Guy entered the dungeons, then softened as he saw the identity of his other visitor. His Marian, dressed in brocade like a queen while he was lying beaten and torn in the collective waste from a hundred prisoners before him. _Bruised but not broken_, he told himself, he must make her see that. Thus he raised his head with all the strength he could muster and locked her eyes with his, trying to draw his lips into a reassuring smile. They cracked from the tension and smarted painfully, but he swallowed down the moan and ran his tongue over them in a vain attempt to moisture the dry skin. His tongue was swollen and clumsy and it made his jaw ache to open his mouth. It was odd how many different kinds of pain there was, not one sensation but a thousand different shades. He watched the delicate wrinkle in Marian's forehead and realized that he would never see her smile again, never hear her laugh, and that was another kind of pain - one which was much harder to swallow.

Somewhere is Robin's dazed mind a memory took hold, and he recalled that in what remained of his damned existence there was a single thing that mattered. Marian may never laugh or smile at him again, but she must not cry. By Guy's words Marian's tears would doom her, and shackled and cornered as he was, Robin could still not allow that. She was on trial, and she _must _be found innocent. He could not let her follow him as he fell.

In the back of his head Robin noted, with the bitter amusement of a fallen hero, that this wasn't the kind of death he had imagined for himself - so far from chivalry and romance. There was no room for goodbyes with Guy hovering over the couple, dark and menacing like a foreboding shadow. Robin felt like his last words to Marian should have been 'I love you', but instead tried vainly to form the words 'do not cry' with his parched lips.

Yet Marian did not cry. She watched Robin is shock which became glazed over by fury, first raging and uncontrolled before it chilled off into something more calculated. Her face was set in grim determination as she turned coldly to Guy, glaring at him in accusation.

"What have you done?" she hissed. "I demand you stop this right now!"

Guy's eyes widened, no doubt as shaken as Robin was at her brazen defiance, and his posture tensed notably. Robin watched in horror as Guy's hand moved to the pommel of his sword, yet it was not to draw the weapon but rather to rest his hand on the hilt. The epicentre of his power was symbolized by the silvery weapon and it seemed he was drawn to it like a child to its cuddling toy.

"You _demand_?!" he snorted in disbelief. "And who are you to demand anything of me, _Maid_ Marian?"

"I am a resident of Nottinghamshire," Marian responded coldly. "And this treatment of the prisoner is cruel and unnecessary!"

"Unnecessary!" Guy snarled. "Do you not know who he is?!"

"Yes!" Marian barked back, startling the two men who had not expected such force from her. "He is Robin Hood," she continued a bit softer. "But you do not _need_ anything from him. Torture such as this is uncalled for! You already have your prime target!" Marian's chest heaved in fast breaths and Robin read her signs with growing anxiety. She was desperate, and a desperate Marian was potentially even more reckless than a bored Robin Hood. He saw her fists clutch into balls of fury but the rest of her remained impressively composed. A faint wave of pride rolled over Robin and for a moment it subdued the fear and the pain. Then she glanced at him and the terror came back with renewed strength. Her eyes were filling up, damp with tears of grief and rage as if they were about to burst. _No_, he begged to the uncaring universe - _please God, do not let her cry!_

"You are crying."

Guy's voice was calm but deadly as he gripped harshly around Marian's chin and jerked her head up towards him. Robin found that he was holding his breath and let it out before the dizziness stole his senses.

"You are _crying_ for this scoundrel?! This—_thief_!"

Marian took a trembling breath and swallowed hard. "Yes," she responded between clenched teeth and tugged away Guy's intrusive fingers from her face. "I am crying, but these are tears of anger. What you are doing is wrong. It is cruel!"

"There are things more cruel than torture, Marian," Guy grunted and moved over to her. He moved his hand to stroke away a lock of hair from her face in a gesture which was gentle compared to his earlier touch, but to Robin seemed more threatening than a dagger. There was so much hate clouding his eyes, tainting the warped love towards Marian which still claimed his heart.

Instead of moving away from him again Marian met Guy's eyes steadily, taking his hand in hers and gingerly removing it from her cheek. She forced a small smile which clashed with the hate in her eyes and Robin felt the shadow of his usual, irrational jealousy roll over him. It scared him twice over when Marian manipulated Gisbourne - once because Guy's wrath was a deadly force once woken and twice because Robin always remained slightly afraid that Guy would somehow win her over. He knew he held Marian's heart, but there were other things that could sway a woman –threats and promises of things he may never be able to give her.

"We need to talk," Marian said to Guy in calm professionalism. "But not here."

"Why not here?" Guy asked, his voice suddenly hoarse and muddled with emotion. He seemed angry about this change in his body and put a symbolic distance between himself and the woman before him, folding his arms and twisting his face into a scowl.

"Because this is a dungeon. Please," she took a deep breath. "Guy--"

"You are going to plead for this man's life?"

"I wish to talk to you. We used to be friends."

"Friends," Guy snarled and turned his back on Marian abruptly. Without his eyes upon her and the need to put up a façade Marian's body seemed to shrink, her sharp breaths became more pronounced and she put her hand on her stomach to focus her strength. "Is that what you call it?" Guy continued.

"It is what I call it," Marian responded in a flat tone. "I used to call Robin my friend as well, before he shouldered his hood. He used to be my dear childhood friend, Guy," She took a challenging step towards Guy and cocked her eyebrow. "Can you really resent me for not rejoicing over seeing him like this?"

There was a moment, just a moment, when Robin thought he saw a glimpse of guilt flicker by in Gisbourne's callous exterior as he turned back to Marian. Then the dark man inhaled deeply into his nostrils and let out a sigh.

"Very well," he murmured. "You can accompany me to Vaysey's study."

Marian nodded mutely and cast a final glance at the shackled outlaw. When she turned to leave panic gripped hold of Robin - despair far beyond rationality attacking his every sense and making the wounds of his beaten body ache. Blood surged through his veins as his heart pounded with the brute force of a sledgehammer. This was the last he would ever see of her, a distant image beyond the bar, an apparition who he failed to reach. The terror caused him to abandon all caution, forget about his precious pride and crawl across the floor until his hands closed around the metal rods. The sluggish moisture which covered the floor soaked through his trousers, slimy and stinking from human waste products and the mould which thrived in the stuffy cellar, but he merely recorded the discomfort with blatant indifference. For a moment he felt so dizzy that he thought he would faint, but he pushed away the darkness and focused on Marian. His Marian! She was leaving! His voice of reason remained a helpless observer as he felt years of acquired strength run through his fingers like fine, white sand. Once again he was a boy at his mother's deathbed, frightened and alone. Again he was a young man at his first real battle, who choked and vomited and cried. Again he was a soldier, who felt his mind disappear into the mists of a deadly fever and quiver as he faced his own imminent death. At every point of his life when he thought himself beyond the irrational fear he proved himself wrong, powerless against the onslaught of a tragedy.

"Marian!" he called out in a strangled voice, hoarse and feeble as it broke off into a cough. "Marian, I love you!" Another cough - a wheezing breath, and he collected strength from his entire body in order to push out the words. In his mind he begged her to turn to him - then became stiff with terror as he realized that she might break if she saw him, and begged her not to turn. Yet the voice of reason was a faint one, and he longed to see her face one last time, craved it like a starving man craves food. He was a doomed man and this was the last chance he would ever have to be honest with her. "I love you!" he yelled again. "Marian!"

Marian didn't turn, but her posture became stiff and Robin thought he saw a faint tremble run through her body. She folded her arms across her stomach and rubbed them with jerky strokes as if she was frozen, and instead it was Gisbourne who turned to around. A mocking smirk of triumph was plastered across his cold features when he saw Robin's dejected figure on the floor. He raised an eyebrow and smirked while he studied the trembling hands which clung to the bars, the knees that sunk down into the gutter, the sheer desperation which had stripped the defiance from the outlaw's proud face. Robin didn't grant him as much as a glare, merely kept his eyes on Marian's back and felt his eyes sting from unreleased tears because he couldn't see her face. It was like one of his nightmares of the Holy Land, when he would see her walk away over the sand dunes, call for her attention and run in panic to catch up with her. The distant Marian of his feverish dreams never stopped or turned around, never slowed down to wait for him. She walked away in slow dignity and no matter how much Robin ran he failed to reach her. Now he saw Gisbourne put his palm on Marian's shoulder and guide her up the stairs. She was gone. He would never see her again.

---

"Well?" Guy snapped as the door closed behind Marian and they were alone in Vaysey's study. "You wanted to talk - I do not have all day." He moved over to sit in Vaysey's chair and pulled up a low stool for Marian to kneel on, forcing her into a subdued position. Marian blushed with indignation as she obeyed him and looked up at the pale man. By then the fear which had kept her body frozen had given away to determination, a warrior preparing for battle, but she still felt furious and nauseous. _At any cost_, she reminded herself as Robin's bruised figure appeared in her mind anew. At _any_ cost she had to save him. His men could never do it. There were too many guards, he was too weak. It was up to her and all she had to fight with was herself. She was the only weapon left. Gisbourne's love for her and his hate for Robin was a dagger and the target was the man who sat above her. He moved his feet to rest them on the stool which Marian kneeled on, pressing the dirty sole to her fine dress and leaving a muddy mark.

"We both know what I want," Marian finally said stiffly, professional and cold since she felt sure that trying to seduce him would only anger the man. He thought so very little of her these days - a fallen angel or the devil's spawn – even though he may still love her.

"Hood?" Guy asked in a steely voice.

"Hood," Marian nodded. "He is the hero of the people. They need him."

"Indeed?" Guy scoffed. "Well, we cannot always get what we need or," he gave Marian a leering gaze, hungry but disgusted, "what we want."

Marian took a deep breath, making her chest heave, and rested her hand on Guy's ankle, stroking it gently. "But you can," she responded softly. "You can have – what you want. You can have – a woman who—by your side, who—who cares for you."

Guy raised his eyebrow and removed his foot from Marian's touch, giving out a snorting laughter. "You?" he sneered, although his interest was notably sparked. "What makes you think I want--"

"No games, Guy," Marian snapped and met his eyes steadily. "I wish for Robin to be free," Guy flinched but Marian remained calm, "and you want—me. Robin loves me - you saw him in the cell. Even if you do not think highly of me, consider this. To have me as your wife, willingly, to have Robin's love, to own her--" Marian swallowed and shut her eyes. Her voice had started to tremble and she lowered her face. "I will be yours," she whispered to the sound of her own pounding heart. Her voice was so heavy the words felt like a struggle, her chest constricted and her stomach turned.

When she had finished speaking the room fell quiet, a tense and uncomfortable silence in which Marian could feel Guy's eyes roaming her body. The hair on her arms rose from the unwanted attention, but instead of shying away she distanced herself from the situation, arched her back and let him see what was on offer. His breath had quickened and after a while he stood up abruptly, paced over to the window and then back again. He stopped by Marian's side and she raised her eyes slowly to meet his darker ones, in which desire had won over the hate, and she knew that she had succeeded.

"Up," he ordered, and she rose. _'Will I always have to obey his every command like a she-dog?' _Marian asked herself in disdain. In this moment her life had been decided for her. She had won and lost everything, but Robin would live. Her body was tense when Guy stroked her arms and tilted her face to kiss her savagely. His embrace felt like a cage and she put her palms to his chest and pushed him away instinctively with a shout. Once she felt the air around her body anew she straightened up and met his eyes proudly. "You are mine," he sneered, furious at her defiance.

"Yes," she stated. "I am you wife to be, not some cheep sleeper. You will treat me accordingly."

Guy raised his eyebrow as if to question the truth in her statement, then backed off.

"Very well," he drawled. "The act of our union and his – release – will take place simultaneously. The castle has a chapel."

"I must be allowed to see him leave," Marian protested. "You have an army to your disposal, I have only myself."

"Not much, is it Lady Marian?" Guy smirked in contempt. "You may see him leave – wait for word of his wellbeing - then we wed. You will stay in the castle but I shall send for your father so you will not be alone."

"I am a prisoner?" she asked feebly with the familiar wrinkle appearing in her forehead.

"As you said – you are my wife to be," Guy snorted mockingly. "You will be by my side. Does that not please you?"

"Yes," Marian murmured, suddenly feeling faint. "Of course." To wed Guy, to wed him so soon—what little freedom she had was about to be taken from her, but she had no choice. "Yes," she thus repeated a bit louder and planted a dry kiss on Guy's cheek. "But please—please do not send for my father. I shall—write to him. He is unwell - I do not wish him to inhale the raw air of this castle. He has already spent too much of his life here."

"He must come to your marriage," Guy stated, a veil of threat coating the innocent words. Marian fought the despair as she searched for any sign of softness in his eyes, but knew instantly that he would not yield. He had already stretched as far as he was willing, further even, and he had no need to humour her. He father would have to come. He would have to undertake the travel and come back to the castle which haunted him. He would have to see his beloved daughter wed a man he knew that she loathed, just to save an outlaw who got too arrogant.

"He must," she agreed reluctantly. "I will send for him. Let it come from me. It is—happy news, not a bad tiding, after all."

When she placed her palms on Guy's chest, to seal the agreement, he inhaled and tensed notably, a faint tremble running trough his body. She resented the way his lips felt upon hers, his touches felt foul and dirty, but she swallowed down the despair and focused on the good side of this turn of events.

Robin would be free. Marian might be lost, but the people would still have their hero. And she would be wed. Was that not what she was supposed to do after all? A grown woman was a wife, a widow or a nun, or else she was nothing at all. Now she would be Lady Gisbourne. Many women would have envied such a lucky twist of fate. Even her father might draw a sigh of relief once he realized that his wilful daughter had been driven into her cage, just like the sheep she was born to be.


	5. Chapter 4: Soup

**Chapter 4: Soup**

Once her decision was made and her future sealed shut Marian felt numb. During the long, silent dinners with Guy and her father she had dammed up her feelings and the hollowness of the castle echoed the void in her heart. Sir Edward had not reacted much at all to the news, merely looked at her sadly and bewildered wished her good luck. As for Robin's gang the message she had managed to send to them had been short and matter-of-factly. When Robin was released it was their turn to care for him. She had nothing more to give.

Marian walked solemnly down the big western corridor, informally known as 'the alley of sighs', and her neck felt stiff as if her spine had been replaced by a metal rod. It was all she could do to avoid turning her head towards the door to the dungeons, incidentally the same door which had given this corridor its melancholic name. She wondered if Robin could hear her heart beat fiercely in her chest, willing him to live until he was released, but knew it must be impossible. Robin was oblivious of her whereabouts – had no reason to even suspect that she was in the castle still. The memory of his voice calling out a desperate declaration of love which she could not return made her hands tremble so hard that she had to knit them into two hard fists.

Unable to resist the urge to turn to the door she stopped some distance away, her tense body melting into the shadows, and was surprised to find two women by entry. One of them held a tray with food – bread and water for the prisoner – but it was the other one who caught Marian's attention. Something about the way she lingered, seemingly without any reason to stand here, made her seem out of place. She was beautiful, Marian noted, especially compared with the odd-looking maid. Her lips were ample, the gray eyes big and clear and her milky skin smooth like velvet. She was not a woman to loiter outside the dungeon doors, as if it was the chest of a gilded treasure and she was the dragon set to guard it. Why was she there? Even though Marian knew that the most plausible explanation was that the woman had some affair with one of the guards, it made her feel ill at ease. If she was a dragon then Marian did not wish her to remain so close to Robin.

With a wry smile at her own irrational thoughts, Marian shrugged off the discomfort, deciding that it would be wiser to approach the women than to spy on them. After straightening her back so that her stance matched her status she started to walk briskly towards the door. She noted absently that the maid made a rather clumsy curtsey when she reached them, but the other woman didn't even seem to notice her. She looked displeased and frustrated, her posture tense and her forehead creased with a wrinkle which didn't add to her beauty.

"This is hardly a place for you to gossip," Marian snapped at them, cringing at how haughty she sounded. "Go on. You should not keep the prisoner waiting. He will be released soon – he needs his strength."

"Yes, miss," the maid murmured and knocked forcefully on the door. When one of the guards opened the other woman had moved away and stood on a wary distance, watching as the maid was swallowed by the dark opening. Once the maid was gone the other woman turned to give Marian a cold glare.

"You should not stand here either," Marian pointed out. "It is very draughty. You will catch your death."

"The prisoner will live?" the woman asked, ignoring Marian's comment. She could not possibly be a castle employee, so who was she?

"He will. Guy has assured me that he will."

"You are Gisbourne's woman," the woman responded in a disinterested tone.

"I am his fiancée," Marian responded with a scowl. "And you are?"

"Misery," the woman responded curtly before she turned away with a short nod to farewell, proudly disappearing down the corridor.

_Misery_, Marian mused when she saw her walk away. How appropriate then that she would linger here. Where else would misery be than outside Nottingham castle's dungeons? Perhaps she belonged here after all, whoever she was.

---

The maid named Edith who came with the prisoner's scant food was one of the few employees in the castle who stood completely under Guy's jurisdiction. She had been a gift from the sheriff, and because the sheriff never gave away anything he'd like to keep himself she was a strange-looking young woman. Her legs were bandy from years of malnutrition, causing her to roll from side to side like a camel when she walked, and her eyes sat too close together, never seemed focused in the same direction and moved restlessly even when she was relaxed. Her vision had been limited from birth so the world she moved through was a blurry, distorted place, but she was used to manoeuvring her way through it with the aid of all her senses.

As she walked down 'the Alley of Sighs' Edith lifted her hand to brush some stands of fine, blonde hair from her face, since they tickled the sensitive skin, and took a firmer grip around the tray with bread and water. In the beginning it had been mouldy bread and water that bordered on putrid, but after Lady Marian's visit things had improved. The crust was too hard to chew through but if you soaked it in the water then it would be quite edible, Edith mused absently. Guy must be in abetter mood with the woman by his side, and she seemed like a fair, kind-hearted creature. A noblewoman, of course, and not concerned with servants, but she would smile at Edith. It was an absentminded kind of smile, and she had an air of aloofness about her, but her manners were gentle all the same. In some ways she reminded Edith of the Madonna Dolorosa in the church – the grieving Madonna – because there was a lingering sadness about her.

Edith was distracted by her musings as she closed in on the door to the dungeons, and her eyes fell upon a dark figure who flinched when she discovered the approaching maid. Edith narrowed her eyes and squinted in order to get a clearer view, almost sighing out loud when she recognized Amise Urry. She didn't know how to act around LeChas' mistress - that was the problem. The woman who had arrived with the castle's defence strategist didn't have any official status. She wasn't a servant but she wasn't nobility either. A guest, she might be called, but by the way Guy and the sheriff treated her she didn't seem very welcome. She wasn't invited to dine with them, but she avoided dining with the servants as well. Instead she'd demand the food to be taken to her room and eat there in solitude. Perhaps she was just a lonely woman, as unsure as they were at her position, but she wasn't very friendly and always seemed a bit—strange. The servants all called her 'Misery'.

"Hello," Amice greeted her in a neutral voice and Edith made a subtle curtsey, letting LeChas's mistress decide for herself how to interpret it. "The guards are in there," Amice continued, nodding at the door. "They are playing cards."

"A'right."

"Are you going in there?"

"Aye, food for the prisoner."

Even though her vision was poor, Edith could sense the change in Amice - a sudden eagerness which seemed misplaced in the conversation.

"Can I do it instead?" she asked.

"No. It's mine, this job. Master could be cross."

"He won't be - I will talk to him."

"He doesn't like you."

Amice fell silent and Edith could feel her keen gaze becoming annoyed. "I just wish to see the prisoner," she argued.

"You'll see 'im when he's dangling on the town square."

"Hanged!?" Amice exclaimed. "But he cannot hang!"

"Sure he can. He got a neck doesn't he?" Edith felt herself grow impatient and stood up straight, brazenly meeting Amice's eyes. She was a naturally shy girl, but for some reason Amice didn't intimidate her at all. LeChas' mistress, big-eyed with ample lips and a constant look of surprise playing over her features, seemed so—childish somehow. Edith found herself handling her as she would her younger sisters.

"Let me do my job," she said and sighed. Amice opened her mouth to respond, but before she had time, their attention was distracted by a third person joining them. Edith recognised Lady Marian and made a nervous curtsey.

"This is hardly a place for you to gossip," the noblewoman said in an uncharacteristically unfriendly tone. "Go on. You should not keep the prisoner waiting. He will be released soon – he needs his strength."

"Yes, miss," Edith murmured and knocked eagerly on the door. Not until she was stalking the guard down the narrow stairs did she fully comprehend what Marian had just said. Robin would live? Be released? The prisoner had spoken to Edith ever since she started to come with food to him, wishing to know if Lady Marian was still in the castle or if Edith had any news from the outside. The news from the outside was his way of subtly inquiring about his gang, she supposed. Edith had been reluctant to respond at first, but then again, he was Robin Hood. He was a legend and it was difficult to deny him anything in the long-run. After a couple of visits her resistance was worn so thin that she obliged him. Yes, Marian was still in the castle. No, she had no news from the outside, but her cousin's late brother in law's wife had received some bread and meat from the outlaws only a day ago or so, she had heard. The latter seemed to please Robin, knowing that his gang was still up and running, but the knowledge of Marian's whereabouts in the castle unsettled him. She could still recall their first conversation and how the very first thing he had asked about had been Marian.

"_Excuse me," the prisoner said. "Hello? Excuse me- can you tell me—I want to ask you something." _

_Edith tensed and looked over at the outlaw briefly, then back at the guards who was in the room outside - the one which had a small, narrow window splitting the darkness with a crescent of light - before shaking her head._

"_Please," Robin's voice was hoarse and the words seemed to scratch his throat. He moved over to the bars and took a gulp of water, managing to spill most of it as if his lips smarted when they came in contact with the jug. "Please," he said again. "I just want to know—is Lady Marian still in the castle? What harm comes from you telling me—I just want to know."_

_He looked at Edith pleadingly and she half-turned to him, unsure how to handle the situation. She felt sorry for him, but he was a prisoner._

"_I work for Guy," she murmured silently. _

"_Well, we all have to earn out living somehow," Robin responded in a strained voice, then made a pause and looked at her quizzically as if asking for her name. _

"_Edith," she responded shyly. "I must leave—sorry, sir."_

"_No wait! Please—Marian." Edith noted a shiver rippling through Robin's body as he called out Marian's name, and she looked at him in confusion. Was he in such a state that he could not tell dreams from reality? "Edith," he corrected himself, "just—I just want to know about Marian."_

_Edith hesitated briefly before she nodded. "Still here," she whispered, turned her back on him and walked briskly out of the stale room. _

She had been afraid of him then, but that had changed. They all said he was a charmer, Robin Hood, but it was pity which softened Edith's attitude towards him.

This day Edith found Robin sitting with his back against the wall, lifting his head wearily when she entered. She met his eyes, gave him a swift smile and put down the tray. Then she stood for a while and watched him.

"I met Lady Marian today," she finally said when it was apparent that he had no strength to ask the same old questions. Her revelation sent a shock though his body – his head jerked up and he stared at her with an intensity which burned right through her defences. He was so pitiful, so _trapped_. "She said you weren't going to die."

"She said I wasn't going to die?" he asked in disbelief. "But how—why—how—what do you think she meant with that?"

"Probably that she didn't think you'd be hanged," Edith responded with a shrug. "You'll be released."

"But you work for Guy. You know him. How could I possibly survive this?!" Robin exclaimed.

Edith shrugged and looked unsure. "Don't know. Sorry, Sir."

"Don't 'Sir' me. I'm no nobleman," Robin murmured and drew a shivering breath. "I do not like this."

"But surely it's a good thing--"

"Oi!" one of the heavily armoured guards who were stationed in the other room walked lazily to the doorway and glared at Edith. "No talking to the prisoner, wench. Order from above." He pointed at the ceiling and Edith felt herself shrink under his attention.

"Sorry," she murmured and gave Robin a swift smile of excuse. He may be a prisoner but she liked him. She was glad that he would live.

---

Robin watched sadly as the shy young girl left hurriedly, and leaned his head to the wall, then let it dip down and rested it wearily in his dirty palms. Was it a good thing that he would be released? That all depended. If he was to live then there must be a price on his freedom, and he did not dare to think about what Marian might have done to afford it. What did she sell to buy his life back from Guy? Her life? Her soul? Her body?

His head ached and spun as watched the guard walk over and take his bread and water before he had time to crawl over to the bars and snatch them for himself. How long had it been since he ate properly? Too long, he mused. Perhaps Guy had planned it like this- to simply forget him and let him rot in solitude. The thought made his stomach ache and once again he was made aware of how empty he was inside. The guard munched down most of the prisoner's bread, soaking it in the water before he poured the rest of the liquid into a bowl belonging to the jailor's dog, and Robin's throat constricted. Wearily he rested himself on the hay which served as his bead and fell asleep once again. His dreams were ragged, a mosaic of nightmares torn apart and reassembled to new, increasingly ghastly forms. From this world of warped, dark chaos he always woke out of breath, sweaty and trembling with a lingering feeling of apprehension.

The image of bread crawling with the kind of white maggots which claimed corpses was plastered on Robin's cornea when he struggled to regain balance, and the nightmare kept jolting back to him. He had been hungry, so hungry, and his stomach had turned when his dream-self bit down on the bread, forcing himself to eat it only to find that it had turned to a hand or some other piece of human flesh once he had swallowed it down. He could smell it. Smell the blood and the decay smell the—soup?

Robin jerked up from his position in the hay and inhaled deeply. Yes! It did smell soup! Why on earth would it smell like soup in here? Was it a new kind of torture? Or perhaps he was loosing his mind? He blinked to focus his vision, and the blurred outline of a bowl slowly became solid before his eyes, causing his stomach to rumble. _So hungry._ Smoke steamed up from the hot meal and Robin scrambled to his knees, crawling over so fast that he collapsed in front of the dish.

Was he dreaming or was it actually soup in the bowl? It smelled so good and it had chunks of vegetables and some dark meet swimming in the fluid. A part of him told him to be suspicious, but the hunger was stronger. Instead of being cautious he gulped down the food so fast that it burned his throat. Even Marian was temporarily forgotten faced with this the most primal human emotion – the body's instinct to stay alive at any cost. Not until he was done did he start to wonder why there had been a hot meal in his cell and lifted his head to meet the jailor's grinning face. The current jailor was a mangy man with bad teeth and a dull, gray mane which had turned into chunks of fat and hair. He held an eerie resemblance to his dog.

"What was in the soup?" Robin asked in a trembling voice.

"'Ow should I know?"

Robin pulled his lips into a bitter smile and tried to feel if anything had changed in his body. At first it was nothing but then his hands and feet started feeling numb.

"Poison doesn't seem like Guy's style," he said, but the jailor merely shrugged and grinned in response. "It's too refined for Guy, and too quick for the sheriff. He'd—he'd want me to suffer in public, he will be angry."

It was hard to move. His thoughts were so—so—they were so _muddled_. Dizzy Robin sat down and gripped his head with both his hands, tearing the turfs of greasy, dirty hair and rocking back and forth. Who had done this to him?! Perhaps it had been Marian? Perhaps that was what she meant – not that he would live but merely that _Guy _would not kill him. The thought was comforting and he decided that it was the truth he wished to die with, resigning to his destiny with his thoughts lingering in some vague memory of Marian and his gang, then just Marian, and finally nothing. When Robin lost consciousness the world had already turned into a blur and he no longer had any conception of what was going on around him.

The jailer noted with a tang of irritation that the prisoner was smiling, and then he called in the group of people who were waiting patiently in the room outside.

---

"Sleeping beauty's in 'ere," the jailer grunted and threw open the door to the dungeons, letting Marian and Gisbourne in accompanied by a couple of guards from Guy's personal force.

"Of course he is," Guy snarled. "Idiot."

"Sleeping like a wee lad," the jailor continued undaunted by Gisbourne's snappy response.

Marian tensed when she felt Gisbourne's hand on the small of her back, guiding her towards the cell where Robin lay sprawled awkwardly on the floor. He was placed on his stomach with the bowl of soup practically licked clean next to him, and Marian felt a tug of fear.

"I will see that he is alive," she said in a strangled voice. "I will not marry until I know that he is safe. That was the bargain."

"It was," Guy admitted coldly. "Once he comes to his senses one of his men will return here to assure us of his recovery. Then we wed."

Marian nodded reluctantly as she watched a guard unlock the door and move Robin's inert body over to a stretcher. He looked to peaceful. His chest rose and sunk is calm, deep breaths and his mouth had fallen open. When the stretcher was lifted his head rolled over to one side and he gave out a low groan, but to Marian's relief he remained asleep. She did not wish for him to see her with Guy, and Gisbourne's hand had moved to her waist, gripping around her possessively. She wanted to scream and tear his intrusive arm away but knew that she had no right. She was his. That was the bargain they had struck and she would have to stick to it.

When the guards moved past her with the stretcher she reached out her hand and briefly brushed it over Robin's face, resting her fingers on his lips so that she could feel the warm air from his breath. Guys grip around her hardened.

"Marian," he murmured threateningly.

She let go of the touch and straightened her back, looking up at Guy with a short nod. "I'm happy," she stated. "We can leave."

"And wed?"

His eyes, eager like a little boy who finally got hold of the brand new toy which he had hung up his entire happiness on, sparkled with triumph.

"When Much comes with word of Hood's wellbeing," Marian responded. "I will give you my word – and my hand – when I know that you have kept yours."

"Such distrust, Marian," Guy murmured with a tang of bitterness. "I am not the one who has history of deceit."

"History will have to be forgotten," Marian responded absently as she watched the last of the guard leave the cell with her sleeping love on a stretcher. She could sense Guy's silent acceptance of her words since his grip around her softened, but in the same moment Marian realised that she never would be able to forget history. History was Robin. It was all she had to pull herself through this, knowing that there were things in this world worth fighting for. Goodness. Love. Friendship. All the things the sheriff scorned and Guy failed to truly understand.

With a smile she distanced herself from her own body again, as if she was floating above it, watching the scene from afar, and turned around to plant a shallow kiss on Guy's lips. "I need to leave to get ready," she said, and Guy nodded mutely, following her out of the dungeons. When they were about to part in the corridor his hand closed around her arm and he tugged her towards him, softly but with a determination which would easily turn into violence in she resisted.

"I will be waiting with your father, Marian."

Marian looked at Guy and found the shadow of a vicious glimmer in his eyes, a veiled threat disguised into a simple statement, and she nodded silently.

"History must be forgotten," Guy continued casually as he let her go. "But not until we are wed. Not yet, Marian. It is not forgotten yet."

----

Marian had gone right back to feeling numb when Much came to her chambers. She was sitting on a chair dressed in a beige silk gown and a veil which draped over her face, covering the world in a milky mist which made everything look unreal. Much was just a shape by the door for Marian and she looked like a ghost to him.

"How is she?" she asked simply at the sight of the jittery outlaw.

"Djaq says that he will be fine when he wakes up."

Marian nodded and turned back to her mirror, wondering why she didn't feel anything. Yet then again, Djaq had chosen the poison, Much had prepared the soup and Marian had been there when they had brought it to Robin. She had expected it to work, this was just a confirmation. Much remained in the door and Marian turned to him again.

"Well?" she asked. "Why are you still here?"

"Ah, well," Much stammered, "eh, well, I can't help but notice your—your—clothes are rather—uncommon—and, well," he shrugged and Marian tried not to sigh. All she had told the outlaws was that the situation was taken care of, that Guy would help them, but she had assumed that they would guess what bait she had used without her saying as much.

"I am getting married, Much," Marian responded calmly.

"What! _Again?!_"

"It is what I have to do."

"But this will kill Robin! And me-- because if it kills Robin then I will surely die," Much exclaimed. "You cannot marry Gisbourne!"

"It will save Robin!" Marian hissed and stood up, tugging away the veil from her face to glare angrily at Much. Why didn't he get it?! Why didn't he understand what had to be done? Why didn't he see that she did this _for_ Robin, not against him?! Much recoiled and started at her in shocked disbelief.

"S-s-save him? Ah, so that was the plan was it? You marry Guy – Robin walks?"

"Yes," Marian responded. "That was the plan."

"I have to say—it is very--"

"Reckless?" Marian snorted. "Foolish?"

"Self-sacrificing," Much finished. "A bit Robin-esque, really, although not in any of his better mo--" he flinched at Marian's angry glare and swiftly changed the subject. "And-- you will go through with it?"

Marian swallowed and forced herself to meet the mixture of pity, admiration and tang of resentment in Much's eyes. "Yes," she said flatly. "And you must leave now - I do not wish you to be caught in case Guy changes his mind and decides not to be so lenient."

"But what will I tell Robin?"

"Tell him as it is," Marian finished and pulled down the veil again, sinking down on her chair. "Tell him I chose this."

She heard the cloth in Much's clothes rub together as he turned and left her chambers, and the thud as the door was shut cautiously, leaving her alone. She lifted the veil enough to see a shadowed vision of her own face in the mirror, just to meet the defiant eyes of Lady Marian Fitzwalter one last time, and pulled her lips into a wry smile. Much good this beauty had done her, bringing her noting but unwanted attention, and yet she would no doubt still miss it when it faded with time. Doubtlessly her husband would miss it even more though, because without it he would have nothing left to build his illusion of her upon. With a sigh she let the cloth drape down again and stood up. If she did not go through with this now then her courage would fail her and she would be likely to loose her life instead of merely her freedom, and she was not prepared to give Guy that much. She would still be Lady Marian. A name did not rule a heart – perhaps if she tried hard enough she might actually believe that one day. She had always lived a double life after all – this was merely another change of masks. Just like before the most important masks was the ones she wore openly, the smiles and the gestures which kept her mind a well-kept secret, and she would never shed those in front of her husband. He might marry her but he did not know who he was marrying and she did not want what she knew of him. In a well-hidden, defiant part of Marian's mind, she wondered if that made the marriage truly valid in the eyes of God, but in reality this made very little difference. 1192 no one married for love. She just had to try and make the best of the situation like everyone else.


	6. Chapter 5: Roses

**Chapter 5: Roses**

The day Marian Fitzwalter married outside the gates of Nottingham's biggest church, the man on her mind still lay unconscious in the forest. Robin had woken up for brief moments to record that he was, somehow, safe in Sherwood, but in his restless dreams he was haunted by a feeling of apprehension. He told himself that the worst thing that awaited him when he woke up was the stench of his own body and a pounding headache, but the anxiety refused to give away. He tossed and turned through muddled dreams, unable to grasp hold of reality long enough to make any sense out of it. Someone put a jug of water to his lips and he dreamt that he was drowning. The wind whispered to the leaves and he heard crowds roaring as the sheriff closed the noose around his neck. Around him the outlaws took turns guarding him, dreading the moment when he fully regained consciousness and they would have to tell him the events surrounding his release. He would not be happy.

In the exact moment that the priest pronounced Marian and Guy husband and wife, Allan crossed the outlaw camp and accidentally kicked some pans, causing Robin to stir. He opened his eyes to the foliage and stared at the pattern of pale green leaves to a blue sky, bewildered once again as to why he was here.

"Look what you did," Much hissed at Allan. "You woke him!"

Allan shrugged and Robin shut his eyes again, wondering why he felt so terribly sad all of a sudden. There were a few more hours of slipping in and out of sleep before he started to be able to hold on to the surroundings, and by then it was nearly dawn. Robin woke up to the sound of birds, finding himself covered in blankets and propped up and cushioned like a prince.

"Where am I?" he murmured, cringing at how ear-splittingly loud every sound was as the syllables pounded against his aching head.

"Sherwood," Djaq responded softly from somewhere left of him.

"Why?"

The silence which met Robin caused the apprehension in his chest to turn into panic. "Why, Djaq?" he insisted. "Why am I here?"

"Hush," Djaq responded and pulled up the blanket over Robin like a mother tucking in a child. "You should get some sleep - there are a couple of hours to the morning."

"Djaq! Tell me!"

Djaq was silent for a couple of moments, hesitating. "When I tell you your world will never be the same again," se responded at last. "You are still not well. Sleep. Be strong for this day."

Desperation pounded through Robin's body but when Djaq stood up and paced away from him he was to weak to follow. He slid back into a shallow slumber.

In Nottingham Marian was awake as well. She lay on Guy's bed with his arm resting sweaty over her and his low snoring filling the room. Her eyes had glazed over by unreleased tears and she stared at the ceiling, going through the day moment by moment, unable to escape the painful reminiscence. There was Guy's happiness when she gave him her hand – and her life – wrapped up in another fancy dress and veiled to hide the regret in her eyes. Then there was the wedding feast, which had been an awkward affair with Guy's honest joy on one side and her father's confusion on the other. They had toasted. Toasted Marian – the new Lady Gisbourne – and her husband, toasted Sir Edward who had found such a man for his daughter and toasted the sheriff in his absence, toasted the king for his holy war and at last they toasted God, England and all that is good. Marian had been surprised that Guy's happiness seemed so genuine, stripped of the vicious glee she had expected, but it only made it all worse. Perhaps she was greedy to think that she could get what she wished for in life, perhaps it was a sin to not give in to what had been decided for you, and she had been punished for it. After all, God could be cruel when He forced His subjects to prove their faith in His creation.

Once they had been alone, followed to their marital bed by a retinue of guests as was custom and then left to consummate their union, Marian's despair had turned into panic. This the last past of the ceremony had been—Marian chopped off her inner dialogue in the middle of the sentence and felt a tug of terror when she recalled, again, what all this truly meant. She belonged to Guy now. He had made her his, even though she had been distant, her eyes blank and her body limp and disinterested. She had discarded it there, a pile of flesh which she didn't wish to be connected to, and let her mind wander. When it was over, blissfully fast, he had asked her how it had been and she had smiled in response, shutting her eyes and turning his back on him to pretend that she was fast asleep.

---

Marian got up before Guy woke and dressed silently to not wake him, but his sleep was heavy from the wine and excitement and he didn't even stir. She noted that she was a bit sore, that his love had been harsher than she recalled and his nails had scratched her skin, but it hadn't been violent. Guy's love was of the kind which grew cruel only if you resisted it, but she had chosen to be merely another tool in his hands, something for him to use as he pleased. He had been disappointed with her lack of interest but found nothing to complain about. Yet. Perhaps he felt that they only needed time - that she just had to get used to married life and be slowly swayed by his attentions.

Marian left the room as silently as she had dressed, but instead of heading down to get something to eat she wandered to her father's quarters in the castle. She stopped and knocked softly in the door, pleased to notice that Guy had removed the guards which had been watching her father through the stay here, and waited for the response. Surely he would not be asleep at this hour. He always woke at first light. When the door wasn't opened she felt the handle and twisted it, noticing that it was locked. It shouldn't surprise her – Edward did not trust this castle any more than he trusted the hounds of hell – but she still felt a tug of fear in her chest. What if something had happened over the night? She had made a habit out of watching her father, checking that he was still breathing and not feeling too anxious, and she was not prepared to back down. After a moment's hesitation she removed a pin from her hair and twisted the lock open the way Allan-A-Dale had taught her one lazy day in the forest. It clicked and was pushed open, and Marian swiftly moved inside.

"Don't come any closer! I warn you – I am armed!"

Marian flinched and pressed her back to the door in surprise, staring at her father who was standing in the opposite side of the room. He was holding a small dagger in his trembling hand and his face was twisted by fear.

"Father, it is me!" she exclaimed.

The dagger was lowered and Edward stared at his daughter. "Kate?" he asked bewildered. "Is that you?" At the sound of her mother's name Marian nearly burst into tears, but she pushed them away and forced her voice to remain soft. Sometimes he got confused when he had just woken up, that was all. She had to help him land in reality a bit.

"No father, it is me – Marian," she smiled tensely. "Your daughter."

"Marian," Edward sighed and put down the knife, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Of course it is you Marian, forgive—forgive me. I am just an old man. A foolish old man."

"You are no fool, father," Marian responded and walked over to her father, sitting down next to him and taking his hand in hers. He had the soft, saggy skin of an old man and it felt so strangely light and delicate – so much like the skin of a child yet in the same time the very opposite of that. It was so hard to see her father in this withering soul, he who had been so strong and protected her from all harm. He was silent and looked around himself, and Marian waited patiently for him to speak, knowing that he still felt confused.

"Remind me, Marian," he finally said with a small laughter. "Why are we here? I seem to have a hard time remembering—perhaps it is age which had caught up with me at last."

Marian drew a trembling breath. "We are here for my marriage," she smiled softly. "Remember? My marriage to Guy."

Edward flinched and looked over at her. "That's right," he said at last, nodding heavily. "I remember now. Silly of me to forget it. A father should remember his daughter's marriage."

"There are no guards outside you door anymore, father," Marian said and stroked Edward's hand. "Guy has removed them. You are safe now, you don't have to fear the sheriff any more. Do you hear that? You have nothing to fear."

Edward laughed and shook his head. "I doubt that, Marian. The sheriff will not merely forgive and forget. I wish I knew what he is plotting."

Marian restrained a sigh at the sight of her father's brooding face and smiled instead. Sometimes she feared he would never be able to let go of this and relax, and if he did not relax he would surely not get better. All she could do was distract him. Cautiously she moved his arm to rest around her and reached her own arms around his shrinking body, leaning her head on his chest like she had done when she was little. He hesitated at first, then responded by cradling her and stroked her gingerly over her dishevelled, chestnut curls.

"What has life done to you my child?" he asked in a low murmur. "My brave little girl."

For a moment Marian froze by the sudden clarity in her father's thoughts, the way his voice carried the tone of his former self, strong and astute. She had been unsure of how much he understood of the events which had passed, and his words now, tender but filled with a deep, sorrowful compassion for her lot in life, took her by surprise. She savoured the feeling for a while before she untangled herself from the embrace and straightened her back.

"We should get some breakfast. I will get maid to serve us something light in here."

"You will not eat with Guy?" Edward asked cautiously.

"I wish to eat with my father," Marian insisted in stubborn defiance towards her new status as Lady Gisbourne. "Guy will have to understand. Besides, he was still asleep when I left. I'll just say that I did not wish to rouse him. He does undoubtedly have a long day in front of him. There will be paperwork."

"Oh?" Edward asked, his interest sparked by the secret look in Marian's eyes. "Why is that?"

"Robin Hood escaped from the dungeons yesterday," Marian responded flatly. "Guy will need to cover the tracks."

"He was—involved—in this release?" Edward burst out.

"It was my wedding present," Marian smiled wryly as she crossed the floor to call for a maid. "Sir Guy has been very generous."

---

"Good morning."

Robin blinked away the sharp sunlight and focused on the ring of shadow-figures around him, finally managing to recognize Much among the shapes.

"We felt it was time to wake you," Much continued and looked edgily at the other outlaws. They all seemed so serious. Then Robin recalled Djaq' words the last time he had come to his senses. _When I tell you your world will never be the same again._ "You think we can—talk to him now? Is he well enough?" much asked Djaq as if Robin wasn't present.

"No being funny but isn't it better is he is a bit dazed at the time?" Allan pointed out. "He'll be cross y'know. Easier to stop a ganging bull if the poor sod is sedated, mind you"

"What do you know about raging bull's Allan," Much scoffed. "Can you even tell a bull from a goat?!"

"Shut up," Djaq snapped. "Robin? Are you ready? You wish to speak?" They looked at him in anticipation and pity and once again he was hit by Djaq's words before, remembering how they had unsettled him then and still made him feel sick and terrified.

It only took as much for Robin to put the pieces of the puzzle together. He had always had a sharp mind, and even though his head pounded and he felt queasy and weak he was perfectly aware of the situation. He had been in the castle. Locked up. Doomed. In spite of that Marian had claimed that he would live, and she had been to visit him—with Guy. There had been some kind of poison and now he found himself back in the camp. All the outlaws were here, grim and full of empathy, but Marian wasn't. In that moment he knew. He knew because he knew her, and he spoke instinctively before he truly had time to think through the words.

"She—she married him?" he asked even though he knew the answer. He wished for them to contradict him but instead their eyes confirmed his suspicions. He wanted to scream and shout at them to force them into saying that he was wrong, to take it back, to laugh at him for being such a pessimist and believing the worst - but they didn't. "Will—she will marry him?" he continued in a vain hope that there would be a way out, that things weren't _sealed_. "When? What date is set?"

"Yesterday," Djaq responded plainly and planted a hand gingerly on Robin's arm. "I am sorry, Robin."

He shrugged her off and sat up, his limbs aching and trembling from exhaustion, and blinked away the sleep from his eyes.

"Here, something to eat," Much shuffled over a bowl of soup and some bread, but Robin merely stared at it.

"It is the same soup," he finally complained. "It is the soup from the dungeon – you were _in on this_!" his eyes darted wildly in accusation from face to face. "Who of you? All? You were _all_ in on this?"

"I didn't do much," Allan instinctively defended himself from all blame and gained rather hostile looks from the other outlaws in return. "What!? I didn't! It's the truth, innit? I didn't do squat."

"Yes, Robin," Little John grunted, ignoring Allan. "All of us. Together." There was no use denying it. Robin had to be served the truth and deal with it. His breathing had upped its pace and he shifted his body as if he didn't know what to do with it – this collection of bones and muscles which was alive even though it should be dead by now.

"W—why would you," he asked in a trembling voice, but was unable to finish the sentence. In his state of shock their rescue seemed like the biggest act of treason imaginable, and he the force of this sudden hate towards all his best friends shook him to the bones.

"Because it was the only way," Much stuttered. "It was Marian's idea, we didn't know until—we didn't know."

"You blame her?" Robin snarled in a low growl. "She was the one who did it and you wash your hands with—you wash your hands clean!?"

"No! I didn't mean—I mean, she didn't say—but we didn't ask really, and—Robin, please," Much's eyes were filling up with tears at the sight of the disdain in Robin's look. "We only wanted to save you!"

"I knew," Djaq added. "I think we all guessed what she had done we she told us she had talked Guy into helping us. I do not think we could have stopped her if we tried, nor would we have been able to save you any other way."

Robin stayed silent and stared into the air in front of him, lost in some far-away thought. "I want you to leave," he finally said. "All of you. Go to Clun, go to—Locksley—go where you like. I need to be alone."

"But Robin, it was not our--"

"Leave Much!" Robin yelled, then forced his voice calm. "I'm not planning to do anything stupid, I just can't face you right now. I need to think about this. Alone."

"But you always say that, and then you always," Much hindered himself when Robin looked at him again. The hate had given away to an overwhelming look of loss which nearly threw Much off his feet. It reverberated into his own mind and took hold. "Perhaps we will be just a little—just by the caves," he finally continued reluctantly. "So that you know where we are if you need us."

"I will come," Robin responded fainlty with a small smile of appreciation, " I will come _when_ I need you."

---

When he needed them turned out to be about the same time that it had started to rain again and he was freezing and soaking wet. He remembered a time when he had walked this same way to this same cane in the rain before, carrying the wounded Marian in his arms. This time he couldn't save her, she wasn't in his arms and he feared she never would be. He waked into the dusk where a fire crackled in the raw air and the outlaws all turned to him. Much was the first one to pull himself out of the moment and stand up.

"Robin," he said as he paced over and pulled his old friend into an embrace. Robin was so small, his shoulders slumped and his head rested heavily against Much's shoulder. When he spoke his voice was thick with tears.

"I have to let her go, Much," he murmured with an uncontrolled tremble. "I have to let my love—my—my sweet, brave Marian go. I just—I can't do anything about this. She did it for me – she—she married him just to save _me_. I just—I just wish she hadn't." He stifled a sob and Much continued to hold him steadily as the other outlaws gathered in a ring around the two friends. When Robin spoke again his voice was raspy and strained, a complaint which echoed through the cave even though it was soft like a whisper. "I wish she hadn't…"


	7. Chapter 6: Hay

**This site is now up to date with the other place I am publishing this fic. :)  
**

**xxxTrixxx**

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**Chapter 6: Hay**

It tasted bland.

So many colours and spices, so many lavish decorations, yet it could all have been water on Marian's tongue. There was food served between the white wings of a swan, intricate pastries formed like bird nests and entire caramelized flowers. Their beauty had been frozen by sugar which clung to the stiff petals like rime. In the middle of the table a roasted suckling-pig rested on a throne made of pickled apples and plums, and had been stuffed with a whole rooster. There was even a dish called 'glazed pilgrim' – something Marian had only ever seen once before - consisting of pike which had been boiled at the head, fried in the middle and roasted by the tail, then served with a roast eel and three different sauces in vivid colours.

The eyes of the suckling-pig had dried away by the fire so that all that remained was two scorched pits which stared unseeingly at Marian, and to top it off the banquet was covered in an abundance of white lilies - a flower which she had always hated. It was so absurd she wished to laugh.

"Thornton informed me that white lilies were your favourite flower."

Marian looked up at Guy in surprise and met his eyes across the table, trying to fight the amused smile which tugged her lips. Thornton had said that, had he? Good old Thornton, so subtle in his defiance against his new master. He knew that Marian had always preferred the simple beauty of carnations, while lilies reminded her of funerals and embroidery. She gave her husband a polite smile.

"They are very suitable," she responded honestly and turned back to her meal. She could feel Guy's eyes still upon her when she lifted a slice of meat to her lips, studying her with disturbing intensity. The meat was so tender that it melted on her tongue yet under his gaze it seemed to swell and turn to glue when she tried to swallow. She put down the rest of the slice and dried her greasy fingers on the clumsily embroidered napkin which had been part of her dowry. She had originally intended it for her and Robin's household linen and it amused her somewhat that Guy still had not discovered the 'R&M' which was embroidered into the pattern. He rarely paid much attention to such details, something which seemed to be true for most men in Marian's experience. They may be quick to praise the female attributes, most of which Marian failed to recognize in herself, but in reality they held the actual output of this 'gentler nature' in very low esteem.

"Is the meal not to your liking?"

Again Guy's words startled Marian as if she had forgotten that he was a part of this absurd scene of noble domestic life. A banquet like this should not be served as a Sunday dinner for two, with swan wings obstructing the view and an entire suckling pig which they could not possibly finish off. It made them look abandoned, like a gilded island set apart from reality. To Marian Guy's stifling attention and his inquisitive words felt unwelcome like the sound of a jailor rustling his keys just to show that he was there. It was called wedlock for a reason – once it trapped you there was no way out. She forced a smile.

"I am not hungry."

"I had this specially prepared for us, Marian," Guy's tone sounded like a veiled threat, soft but commanding with his eyebrow raised in a subtle rebuke. He was telling her to watch her manners, and even as a smile grazed his lips there was a warning in his eyes. "You will eat."

"I have eaten. I do not have the stomach of a man."

"Nor do you have the stomach of a bird." Guy took a deep breath to steady his quickly flaring mood, something he was used to from working for the sheriff, and arranged his featured into a smile which was intended to be warm. It chilled Marian to the bones. "Please," he coaxed her, "for me, Marian. Eat."

Marian returned the smile faintly and turned back to the plate, her jaw set like a woman facing a challenge. At least with food in her mouth there was no need to exchange pleasantries.

Guy looked pleased and indulged in another chunk of the suckling-pig. The dinner was mostly undertaken in silence, but instead of feeling awkward Marian savoured the solitude. She had not truly expected the choice to marry Guy to be this difficult to live with. After all it had been a part of her life for years, sometimes a threat and sometimes a possible desperate way out of eternal spinsterhood. She had always prided herself in seeing the potential he harboured and not merely his actions, but now that he finally had his price Marian realized that she had very little left to bargain with. There was no need for him to win her over anymore. If a man could not change without a woman's love he would not truly have changed with it either.

Every now and then Marian would look up from her plate to see Guy studying her hungrily. His eyes scared her because they were so sickening possessive and she didn't truly wish to be another one of his possessions. Yet she was. Lady Gisbourne was less of an individual than Lady Marian had been, since conventions put shackles on her. She only had so much freedom as Guy would give her, or as much as she dared steal when he was otherwise preoccupied. He smiled at her swiftly and she turned back to her meal with stubborn callousness. Was this the meaning of her life? To be a decoration on Gisbourne's arm, a trophy on his wall? A manor, a title, money and a woman – all to glorify the man in black.

"Marian?"

Marian looked up and raised her eyebrow quizzically, fighting the scowl which she knew would only lead to unwanted questions. Guy folded his hands with the napkin crumpled up into a greased ball between his fingers and looked at Marian in anticipation.

"Did the meal please you?"

"It was lovely." Her voice was flat and impassive even as she smiled. "My compliments to the chef."

Guy grunted or laughed, Marian wasn't sure which. "Better give your compliments to the man who paid for it," he smiled in an attempt to pull a joke, or was it another warning? "As my wife you will lack nothing, Marian."

The promise was so absurd and hollow that Marian had to bite back a gibe. This life would be cushy at best, and at worst a battle field. There would be no love and understanding, and because of that it would lack everything that truly seemed to matter to her. This union would condemn them both to loneliness.

"I wished to celebrate our union, since the wedding was such a rushed affair. But there is more," Guy continued smiling. "A wedding present."

"What is it?" Marian asked, suddenly wary. She had a bad feeling about this, instinctively expecting the worst.

"Patience, my love," Guy smiled and raised an eyebrow at her. "As you may know, I have worked for some time now to change the name of this estate. Today I got notice that my claim has gone through."

"What?" Marian's mouth felt so dry all of a sudden, that she lifted the glass of wine to her lips and tilted her head back for a decidedly unfeminine swig of the beverage. It tasted so sour that her face was twisted into a grimace but the burning sensation in her throat served to give her some focus. When she put down the glass Guy's look had changed from that sickening soft smile into a suspicious scowl.

"Locksley is New Gisbourne now," he continued with a new edge to his voice. "Our Gisbourne, Marian."

Marian was helpless to the wave of irrational panic which hit her with all the force of a storming ocean. The bizarre feast looked surreal before her and she fought an impulse to pull away the tablecloth and cause all the overly extravagant dishes to come crashing down with a high-pitched roar of sheer defiance. No! This was Locksley! Robin's Locksley! How could it possibly be New Gisbourne?! This house was not his!

"Oh," she said out loud, a single gush of wind to echo the storm which raged inside her.

"Are you not happy?" Guy's voice had that undercurrent of threat again. He had not forgotten that this marriage had been forged as a mere business deal to save the life of a noble outlaw, and it made him sensitive to her every reaction. "This is a new start for us. Everything in the past will stay in the past. Locksley will stay in the past."

"Will it not require validation from the king?" Marian asked faintly.

"You should not concern yourself with the paperwork, Marian. It is not appropriate. This is a gift. Now you can take comfort in the fact that you have not married into an empty name."

"There are worse things than an empty name."

"Is there?"

"Yes." Marian put her palms against the table and took a deep breath, trying to fight off the nausea. "It could be a common name," she smiled bitterly in a half-hearted way to gratify her husband. Even through the distress she knew that his relative trust in her was the faint thread which the last of her independence rested on.

Guy was silent for a while and studied Marian grimly. "Are you unwell?" he finally asked. "You look pale."

"It was a very rich meal. You have been too kind, my stomach cannot take it."

Guy grunted and Marian forced herself to meet his eyes, hoping that her own emotions didn't shine through too much to be explained away the result of mere overindulgence. "I need fresh air," she smiled and stood up abruptly. Guy watched her with a frown and followed as she moved towards the door, grabbing her arm to tug her back. She took a deep breath and arranged her featured into a tired smile, planting a palm gingerly on Guy's arm. "Please," she coaxed. "I only wish to take my horse for a short ride."

"It is dark."

"I will not go anywhere near the forest. Please, it will make me feel better. I feel so heavy." Marian licked her lips and took a trembling breath. _A new start. Use his words against him_. "Do you not trust your wife?" she continued steadily. "What crime have I committed which is not—in the past?"

Guy studied her for a short while, then smiled and let go of her arm. "I am merely worried," he murmured. "But if you must, I suppose—just take precaution."

"I will take the pony," Marian smiled faintly. As she disappeared out through the door the cool air enveloped her and served to clear her muddled mind, if only enough to make her realise how truly trapped she was. By the power of habit she started to walk towards the stable even though the ride had been merely an excuse to get away. She knew that mounting a horse in her state of distress only would serve to make the animal overly anxious. It was dangerous and she did not wish to die before this pitiful life of hers had played out every single card it may have hidden up its sleeve.

---

In the dark of the stable he saw Marian pace back and forth, a small woman with her hair undone and her dress creased from holding the cloth crumpled up in her clutched hands. Now and then she took some swift steps over to a heavily pregnant mare and sought comfort in the animal's heat, stroked the muscular neck and leaned her head against the coarse fibres of its gray-speckled pelt. Then she moved away and bent over her stomach, dizzy and queasy as her face was distorted into a stifled scream. It resonated through the scene and the man who stood so silently in the shadows wondered how something so silent could possibly be so ear-splittingly loud.

Then, before she had a chance to register that she was not alone in the stable, there was a pressure of a body against Marian's small frame. Two arms were planted firmly around her waist as if to ground her when the agony roamed through her bones, and a stubbly chin was pressed to her soft skin. She tensed and squirmed to get away from the confinement of the human touch, giving out a muffled moan into the darkness.

"Hush, shush-shush—it's alright, Marian! It is alright. It's only me – Robin. Shush."

Then she recognised his voice and the familiarity of his body finally pushed through the panic. She relaxed, fell into the embrace and let herself be supported by his lean cradle, put her head to his shoulder and stifled a sob. He kept shushing and rocking her gently, his hand stroking slowly over her head until her breathing calmed down. Somewhere below his devil-may-care attitude, beyond the tenacity and stubbornness, he had suddenly forgotten all he came here to say, and was here just to be here for this shivering leaf of a woman. She who always was so strong and determined felt so small and vulnerable in his arms that he was scared that the world was falling faster than he could rebuild it.

"It's only me," he murmured soothingly against her hair. "It is alright, everything is fine."

Marian smiled against his chest and was glad he could not see her frown, because she knew how wrong he was but did not truly wish_ him_ to know that. This moment was stolen and forbidden, he could never be 'only' anything and nothing with this situation would ever be alright. Once they were Robin of Locksley and Lady Marian, but now there was no Locksley. He was Robin Hood and she was Lady Gisbourne. Her breath caught in her throat and she stifled another sob. Then she pulled back from him and put her hands gingerly on his wrists as if readying herself to tug them away from her. He had one hand on her cheek and grazed it absently while his other hand grabbed her waist in a way that was far more straightforward and yearning than it had right to be. _Three breaths_, Marian said to herself. _We can stand like this for three more breaths, then I have to break this. _She breathed, slowly, deeply, drawing in the air and holding it to make it last longer. For three breaths she stood like that and met his concerned eyes, unable to avoid recording how different his look was to the one of her husband. There was no pretence or awkwardness, no veiled threats or greed, but simply a warm tenderness which made her want to scream because it symbolized everything she had lost. A part of her was angry with him for being so reckless and forcing her to make this matrimonial arrangement with a man she loathed, but tonight her need for Robin's love was stronger than any resentment. A fourth and fifth breath passed and then she stopped counting.

It was the sound of a bucket falling over which broke the spell and made Marian move abruptly away from the forbidden touch. She folded her arms hard across her stomach as if to hinder them from being drawn to Robin's skin once more.

"It was just the horse," Robin murmured and put his hands on his hips. He had a sombre expression but looked so nonchalant where he stood that Marian's discomfort became even more pronounced in comparison. His eyes were dismal when they studied her across the dusky stable. In the pallid light from the moon everything looked blue and drained, but the place had a tranquil beauty and stables had always been a meeting place for the couple. In the company of animals kisses could be stolen more easily, from the playful teasing of their early youth to the forbidden craving which always threatened to push them over the edge the last months before he left for the Holy Land. It was impossible and unreasonable to love the same person year after year but love didn't listen to reason. When he departed for the Crusade she still found comfort in the solitude of the stable, and when he came back again it had been her refuge, not the secret garden of two eager lovers. Now he stood in her refuge and she thought that he belonged there, even though he shouldn't.

"Has the day been very bad?" he asked her soberly. When she didn't respond he sighed and took a half step towards her, turning his tone sharp with persistence. "You looked unwell when I came."

Marian rolled her eyes and gave him the shadow of an arrogant smile which clashed with her trembling hands. "We had dinner and I overindulged a bit, that is all. The peasants eat too little and the nobility far too much."

"You overindulged?" Robin snorted in disbelief. Marian raised her eyebrow at him, challenging him to dare contradict her. It was the same old game but she played it poorly, not truly managing to be convincing in her reserve. "So that is how it shall be?"

"I do not know what you mean."

"Marian, do not do this! Have we not gone through enough to be rid of this pretence!?"

Marian looked at him and felt her resistance crumbling in spite of the distance she had put between them. He was tattered and worn out, and there were still bruises on his skin, but his eyes burned with the same flame which she fell in love with so many years ago. Suddenly she remembered what this marriage was all about, and it gave her strength she didn't know she still possessed. In spite of not loving her husband she had married out of love, and it was the love of the man who stood before her now – a walking, talking dead man. His eyes were veiled by sorrow and regret because the price of his life was so high he would have preferred to die rather than pay it – yet he was alive. Marian knew how the guilt and shame must burn him, but she also knew that it is easier to die as a martyr than to live as a hero. She chose for him because this world needed him, and it needed his flame. Or perhaps that was just the reason she gave herself to make it all seem sane. Perhaps she truly did it because she was selfish and it is easier to be a martyr than to love one.

She gave him a warm smile, unguarded and tender because she felt too weak to resist his magnetism. "He is changing the name to New Gisbourne, Robin," she said softly. He flinched and frowned, then simply gave out a dejected sigh and nodded.

"It is to be expected," he responded sternly.

"I am really sorry, Robin."

"There are worse things under the sun."

"I am sorry about them too."

He recoiled as if her words burned him and his face snapped up to meet her eyes. Suddenly the situation was far too charged with restrained emotions and unreleased words, kept quiet by some mutual agreement that they might shatter the word if the truth was ever revealed. It took near-death for them to be outspoken, but the tension in the room had a language of its own.

"It is dangerous for you to be here," she whispered and tried vainly to fight the tremble in her voice.

"I will manage." It was a statement which left no room for any other possibility. Robin's words were of the kind which became true just because he uttered them, as if they had been charged by magic and warped the world according to his will.

"If something happens to you then my marriage is for nothing," Marian pointed out with implacable honesty. It deflated Robin's arrogance and he suddenly looked full of remorse.

"I am sorry."

"We will wear that word out, my love," Marian smiled sadly before she had time to register the tender epithet. His eyes grew bigger and she turned away, embarrassed and angry with herself for not guarding her own tongue. Her fingers ran though the tangled mess that her hair had somehow become and she walked determinedly towards the door, an apologetic smile on her lips. On the way she brushed past him, so close that she could feel his heat and hear his breath catch in his throat. Then he grabbed hold of her, pushed her softly up against the wall and pinned her back with his thigh. He had one arm on the wall by her head, as if he needed to steady himself, and the other was sneaked snugly around her waist. She inhaled to call out his name in a hushed warning, but before she had time to utter a word his lips muffled her protest. The kiss was eager and demanding as he probed her mouth, a damp warmth which formed a sharp contrast to his rough stubble. Something about him tasted of the forest, a fresh and sweet sample of freedom which pulled her in and turned her resolution to dust. Instead of pushing him away she felt her lips parting, her hands move up to his neck and curve around the curls. He was so close that she could feel his every heartbeat against her body and she thought that she had never wanted anything so badly in her entire life, yet he was so impossibly far away. Then she thought that perhaps she grabbed his hair too hard because he gave out a muffled moan and broke the kiss as fast as he started it. He sprung away form her and in a moment the world was cold again. When she dared meet his eyes they were pleading, even though he did not know what he begged her for, because he was as trapped as she was by the impossibility of the situation. Marian let her eyes slide away from his and stared down at the floor while she stroked her dress to make her look presentable for her waiting husband.

"This will be Locksley again." The words came when Marian was on her way out the door, and they made her freeze and half-turn to him. He could see her back and the proud profile of her face, noting that her neck was somewhat curved as if in doubt of whether to stay and hear him out. She could only see the vague outline of a familiar face with a jaw which was tightly set in stubbornness. "When the king returns Guy will be done for. Then we can be together. We will be together. God wills it."

Marian turned a bit more to give him a swift smile before she walked back into her cushy prison, the house which should have been Robin's and the man who thought he stole everything from him. Yet the villagers still thought of it as Locksley and Marian belonged to Robin Hood, no matter what her new name said. When she left Robin leaned his weight on a small counter by the wall and let his head dip down - his back curved to the gray beams which supported the roof and his palms pushed against the edge of the table. He had told himself coming here that he should be careful and keep his distance, yet he had failed from the very first glimpse he got of his beloved Marian. He had come to thank her and say farewell, but he left knowing with more ferocity than ever that there is no way he could possibly give her up. Until the day one of them died he would always hope, and when Robin Hood hoped he expected that hope to be fulfilled. He'd be damned before Gisbourne took that hope from him.

He'd be damned before he gave up on her.


	8. Chapter 7: Linen

**Chapter 7: Linen**

"You _had_ him!!! You had _Robin Hood_ right under your _bony beak_ of a nose!" Vaysey barked while his plump body fumed with unrestrained fury. "You had him- _him _- and you let him _get away_!? What kind of incompetent, negligent, backward _weasel_…" The sheriff's face was distorted and red, creased like the muzzle of a growling lion, and the upper lip had been pulled up towards the nose so that the yellow teeth seemed pronounced like on a rodent. He spat as he roared out the words, clawing his fingers in the air as if it took all his strength not to strangle Guy there and then. "Your landless, castrated dolt of a half-ape!" he continued howling. "Are you deaf?! Blind?! Imbecile!" At the last word the sheriff lifted a candelabrum from the fixed shelf above the fireplace and hurled it across the room. The expensive Baltic wax candles snapped into useless stubs and one of the arms to fell off as the candlestick hit the opposite wall with a resonating clang.

Guy restrained a sigh and folded his arms across his chest, letting his head dip down, not in shame as much as boredom. There were a considerable amount of things he would rather do than stand here and take punch after punch of scorn from the raging sheriff, yet he had this coming. It was the price he had to pay for Marian, and as such it was a small one.

"Well, obviously LeChas didn't do a very impressive job securing the castle," he drawled in a low growl. "Otherwise Robin Hood would still be safe in the dungeons."

"_LeChas?!_" The sheriff bellowed. Then he pressed his lips together and glared at Guy, letting his posture relax slightly. He half-closed his eyes, which had been widened in fury, so that his face seemed callous like a serpent's and folded his hands behind his back. Gisbourne was delegating his mistakes, or rather the guilt which justly belonged to him, Vaysey mused. He had taught him well. Even though this anger towards the gloomy fool was righteous, Guy should be rewarded for showing such a complete lack of conscience. It was always a good trait in a henchman. Tools should not have emotions - it only made hitting the nails an overly complicated task. "LeChas, hm?" Vaysey repeated thoughtfully. "He was under your command, LeChas. Why is he still walking, hm? Do I have to do everything myself?!"

"I was awaiting your command," Guy responded flatly. "And it has been my wedding day, Sir. A time of joy."

"Joy," the sheriff scoffed. "Joy is for the poor and meek masses. Joy makes a man weak – makes him blind, unguarded! _Glee_, Gisbourne, that is the way to go. _Schadenfreude!_ If you wish to pursue happiness at least make sure you're chasing the right kind, hm?" He gave out a deep sigh and slumped down in the heavy, angular chair, rested his elbow on the desk and used his arm to support his head. "Well we will have to hang him I suppose," he murmured lazily. "Hang him, hang him high," he let his arm drop and drummed his fingers absently against the desk, "and doesn't he have some sort of lady-friend? The strange, pretty one?"

"Amice Urry," Gisbourne responded with a scowl of disdain. "Just a wench - no one important."

"Heh, she scorned your advances did she, Gisbourne? My, oh my," Vaysey grinned and smacked his tongue mockingly. "Amice Urry, sounds a bi like 'a misery', doesn't it? A very unfortunate name that, hm? But does LeChas likeher? That is the main issue here."

"I would imagine so. He seems to see the need of keeping her somewhat protected."

"Mhm. Well, that is settled then. Hang her as well. It always seems a bit scant to me with just one hanging. The dramatic impact is somewhat lost." The sheriff's voice trailed off as he fixed Guy's eyes and studied him grimly for a couple of moments. Then he rose from the chair and walked slowly across the room until he stood right by Gisbourne's side, his breath warm against the lieutenant's neck. "Ah," he breathed in an open sigh. "And now that it is settled, I will give you a good piece of advice Gisbourne," he titled his head up and inhaled deeply. "Never- _never_- ever_, _underestimate me again. That is a mistake which has cost the lives of many, excellent men. Better men, Gisbourne - cleverer, stronger. I let you off the hook this time, hm? It is not likely to happen twice."

"No, Sir," Guy responded in a murmur and felt a cold sweat trickle down his back. The sheriff may be an almost comical figure, short and barrel-shaped, but he was no fool. Gisbourne had absolutely no doubt that the warning was an honest one, and if his wrath fell upon Guy the consequences would be dire for both him and his Marian. _My Marian._ There was someone else to protect these days. He had to remember that.

"Hm?" the sheriff smiled and backed off, giving Gisbourne a little pat on his cheek in mock comfort. "You're sweating like a pig, Gisbourne. Take a bath once or twice, for the priggish old hag if nothing else. Talking about that - how is your favourite pet leper? Warmed up to the leather yet has she?"

"Marian has everything she can ask for. She is quite satisfied."

"Is she?" the sheriff raised his eyebrow quizzically. "You see, Lady Marian's problem has always been that she wants the things she _cannot _ask for, Gisbourne."

"Like what?" Guy snarled.

"Love- compassion- peace and happiness to all men, that kind of do-gooder mumble jumble. A robin in one hand and all the stars in the other - feeding them to him like little breadcrumbs."

"If she wants a bird I will buy her a cage," Guy snapped. "Now if you excuse me I have important matters to attend to."

"Ah yes, a noose does not tie itself," the sheriff responded merrily and clapped his hands together. "Better tell your wife that you will be late. You can send one of the servants."

"No need to, she is in the castle. In the Women's Hall."

"We have a Women's Hall? We don't have any women!"

"We do now."

"No, you see that is where we disagree. You think that Marian is a woman - I think that she is a thorn in my eye. Funnily enough _you_ are the blind one. Heh."

Gisbourne bit back a snarling response and forced his lips into a smirk. "I don't think the two things are mutually exclusive, Sir. A rose can have thorns as well as a thistle."

"Mhm, how very profound Gisbourne. Well, if your lady is in the castle I shall have to see her, congratulate the fair bride." The sheriff clapped his hands together again and rubbed them gaily, much like when he looked forward to a good hanging. Vaysey's cheer was generally someone else's nightmare, and as Guy watched him frolic away it was with a definite feeling of unease. It was a good thing Lady Marian had such thick skin for a woman. A wife of his would have to be strong.

---

There had always used to be women in the women's hall. The constant chattering had warmed the spacious room where the walls were dressed in gentle tapestries depicting scenes of domestic bliss. It was a flat hall, wide and long with narrow windows and a low ceiling, in which the laughs would roll like gentle waves onto a beach. As Marian recalled it was a place painted in yellows and reds, warm colours from the vivid fireplace and the group of sewing women. Even though Marian hated the embroidering, the atmosphere was so animated and welcoming that it was one of the few times that the world of men truly seemed hard and scary to the wilful young noble woman.

Now she found herself in the same room and it was a dead place. The cushions were gone from the stools and chairs and the tapestries seemed dull behind the mist of dust. Rather than yellow and warm this room was cold and blue in spite of the struggling fire a maid had lighted. In front of the hearth Marian sat stiffly on a stool and sewed silently with her face frozen into a scowl. Every now and then she found find herself stopping to simply stare into the nothingness of the room, feeling bowled over by the fact that this was her life.

_Her life._ Lady Marian of Gisbourne, a woman of great fortune and bliss, or so the people would say. She married well, in spite of being an old maiden of little fortune and a far too wild disposition. It was a shame that she would feel so miserable when she had been so infinitely lucky.

When Robin left her for the Holy Land Marian had sought comfort in the Night Watchman and found a purpose of her own, not merely as someone's possession or prize but as a woman with a mission. What was that thing Robin said? Something about the doing of all good deeds being the purpose of one's life. Well, that was a good purpose, and one she had taken great pride in. Yet the ultimate price for this honest life was ironically a life which may never feel authentic again. She had no pride now and nor did she have much of a purpose. She'd be merely another woman, whose life story dusted away in rooms like this one, embroidering useless cushions and tapestries for halls and guest chambers which no one entered.

These were the gloomy thoughts of Lady Marian as her ears suddenly pricked up at the sound of approaching steps in the corridor outside the hall. Men weren't allowed in here but Sheriff Vaysey wasn't a man; he was a vaguely human-shaped calamity. Marian would recognize the sound of his steps at anytime, short and snappy as if he never went anywhere without a purpose, and now and then there would be a break in the beat as he made a little skip. He walked fast for a man with such stumpy little legs, Marian mused in disdain, and then the door was rapidly knocked at and slung open in one vigorous movement.

"Ah, Lady Marian," the sheriff grinned. "Gisbourne said I'd find you here." He looked around at the spartanly furnished room and raised one eyebrow sceptically. "You know, I was going to use this as a storage space but the workers all refused to enter. Apparently it brings bad luck to enter the women's hall, they say."

"Really," Marian responded coldly and put another stitch to her embroidery. It was the kind of simple, geometrical pattern which didn't leave much for her creativity to work on, but at least the end result would look decent enough to be used. She did the outlines first. That way she could afford to be a bit sloppy once her patience was worn thin.

"Mm," Vaysey hummed. "It was too much of a hassle getting rid of the superstitions so I let it slide." He did a slow turn around the room, then pulled up a heavy chair to face Marian and absently trailed two fingers across the seat. They left a track behind like sleigh marks in snow and the sheriff rubbed his fingertips together with a disgusted expression. "What do I pay the maids for, hm?" he murmured bitterly. "It's impossible to find decent help these days. The curse of money is to have to put up with the poor, don't you agree?" Then he ignored the dust and slumped down in the chair, resting his elbows on the armrests and folding his hands loosely above his stomach. "Well, well, well," he sighed. "Seems like congratulations are in place Lady Marian, hm?"

"Indeed," Marian responded with a polite smile. She had her eyes fixed on the embroidery and tugged the needle through the cloth with a violent twitch, making the stitch far too tight. "I am a married woman now, sheriff."

"So you are. And it's quite a husband you have managed to get on your little hook. Not one I would personally recommend but beggars cannot be choosers, can you?"

"I was never a beggar," Marian murmured and kept staring intently at the embroidery as she tried to straighten the crumpled cloth with an inwards curse.

"Oh, come now Lady Marian! Don't be like that. Your virtue was dustier than this stinking old room, but I always thought you carried it with an impressive amount of poise."

Marian cocked her eyebrow and flashed the sheriff a sardonic look before returning to her handiwork.

"You are cleverer than Gisbourne," Vaysey continued when she didn't respond. "Play your cards right and you will be a woman of power one of these days. It's a shame you have such a bleeding heart, but that has always been the problem with womenfolk. All good traits are ultimately wasted on the mawkish lepers."

"Your talent for insults never ceases to astound me, sheriff," Marian responded with a small smile.

"Insult? That was a flattery, Lady Marian. I you were a man I would have employed you myself."

"If I were a man you would have hanged me," Marian stated casually. "A strong woman is a nuisance but a strong man is a threat. Do you not agree sheriff?"

Vaysey frowned at the defiant noblewoman, thoughtfully putting his fingertips together as he watched her working on the embroidery with her face tense and fearless in spite of his presence. There were times when Vaysey wondered; he wondered if this woman was in fact merely a nuisance, or perhaps rather the steering feathers of the arrow which might eventually be his downfall. There was a danger in underestimating your enemies, and Lady Marian was easy to read but difficult to interpret, much like breaking the lock to a book only to find it written in a foreign language. He never knew quite how big a thorn she was. Was she a harmless splinter or a poisoned needle? The metaphor of his mind seemed to reverberate into reality as Marian gave out a yelp of pain when the sewing needle slipped, and she started to suck on her finger tip with a frown in her fair features.

"Do you know a woman called 'Amice', Lady Marian?" the sheriff asked as he decided to change the subject.

"I know very few women," Marian responded dismissively.

"Ah, but this one is in the castle. Never mind, it doesn't matter. What about LeChas? Surely you know about him."

"The 'defence strategist'," Marian scoffed. "Guy does not think very highly of him."

"Guy has changed his mind. He thinks much better of him now," the sheriff grinned.

"Oh," Marian said, looking up as her attention was sparked against her will. This was what Vaysey was aiming for – her curiosity – but then what? Surely he had come to her for some other reason than to make small talk. Something in his tone of voice instantly made her put her guard up.

"Mm, I have decided to hang them both for Guy's little mistakes," the sheriff responded casually. "LeChas and that _Misery_ woman. Gizzy rather likes that – keeps his feet on the dry so to speak."

"Mistakes?" Marian repeated breathlessly. The embroidery was forgotten in her lap and she had absently pushed her bleeding finger tip to the white linen, staring worriedly at the sheriff. She didn't like this. "What mistakes?"

"Do me a favour and don't play dafter than you are, hm? Allowing Robin Hood to escape from the dungeons, I think that would be quite obvious. He should have been better guarded, but apparently Gisbourne was too busy making an honourable woman out of you to do his job properly. It all made me quite cross you know-- but never mind. A double hanging will make me feel better." As he smiled at Marian there was a sparkle in his eyes which contradicted his frivolous attitude, astute and wary like a predator seizing up a large prey. There was nothing casual about these words. He was awaiting her reaction in order to put another piece to the puzzle that was Lady Marian of Gisbourne.

Marian forced herself to let go of the nausea which rolled over her like a violent tide, and picked up the embroidery again. She held her breath slightly as she shrugged at the sheriff and put another stitch to the already ruined handicraft.

"I have never heard of the woman and LeChas made very little impression on me," she responded coldly. "I am glad you do not choose to hang my husband, sheriff. Guy is very fortunate to have such a magnanimous employer."

It was lies and empty courtesies and they both knew it. Yet the sheriff's smile faded into an annoyed expression and he stood up with a frustrated twitch. This had not helped much. Lady Marian was still as much a mystery as ever and not even as he shocked her did she convey anything remotely of value. Did her heart bleed for LeChas? Guy? The woman Amice? Perhaps even for Robin Hood? There was no way of telling exactly how much her loyalty leaned to one end of the scale or the other. Would she be a threat? No doubt she had it in her to be a warrior if she was ever given the chance, but would she ever seize that chance? Irritated he brushed the dust from his black-clothed bottom and walked to stand right behind Marian, leaning over her shoulder to admire the embroidery.

"Very nice," he murmured against her ear for the pleasure of sensing her discomfort. She didn't shy away but there was a shiver multiplying trough her slender frame. "What is it?"

"A square," Marian responded nonchalantly. "The next will be a circle."

"Ah - and when it is finished? What is the end result, hm? A scrap of linen with squares and circles on it?"

"A cushion."

"Indeed?" Vaysey exclaimed. He reached down to rub the embroidery with his thumb and finished off by lingering for a while over the rust red ring of blood, where Marian's finger had spoiled the cloth. "I applaud you, Lady Marian. I rarely see artwork with more—personality. You must give it to me when it is done!"

"Of course," Marian smiled politely.

"Then I thank you, my lady. I will rest my lower cheeks upon it with more fervour than Gisbourne showed his leather wedding gown."

"I scarcely believe that is humanly possible," Marian joked dryly as the sheriff stood up straight again. He gave her a small, mirthless smile, then turned on his heal and stalked out of the room with his usual vigour. When the door closed behind him Marian let out a trembling sigh and felt her body relax.

Two people were being hanged, only it wasn't because of Gisbourne. It was because of her, and because Robin had been too arrogant.

There was a sound of a door opening anew, but this time it was to reveal a young maid who Marian knew as Edith. She could hardly be more than a child, with soft blond curls and eyes that sat too close together and never seemed focused in the same direction. Marian had always suspected that the girl had rather limited vision, but she moved with the confidence of someone who was used to manoeuvring her way through a foggy reality. Occasionally she would fumble or trip as she went on with her chores, but she was quick to hide it from any watching eyes. Now the girl moved up to the fireplace with her characteristically cautious and rocking walk, caused by legs which were bandy from years of childhood malnutrition, and bent down to stir the embers.

"Edith," Marian said, causing the girl to stand up and curtsey awkwardly at the sound of this unexpected attention.

"Aye, miss," she murmured, then blushed as she caught her own mistake. "I mean- _yes, mistress_."

"Do you know someone called Amice? Apparently she lives here in the castle."

"Misery?" Edith asked. "I mean, that is what we call 'er, but it's badder than it sounds. She's a bit loopy, that's all. You have met her."

"I have?"

"Outside the dungeons that one time."

"Oh," Marian frowned. She had a vague recollection of the occasion and she remembered a beautiful but decidedly unpleasant woman in Edith's company. "How is she 'loopy?"

"Just--" Edith shrugged uneasily. She felt like she was on very deep water and didn't know quite how to handle the situation. "Like she's somewhere else all the time, even when she's with us girls." She finally stammered. "Naught _bad_ wrong with 'er though. She's just a lass."

"Harmless," Marian murmured and stared at her embroidery with growing disdain. It was useless. People were hanged for nothing and she embroidered a cushion for the sheriff! It took all her willpower not to hurl the damned thing into the fireplace – a destiny which had fallen upon many of its predecessors in different fits of unfeminine rage or frustration. She tucked it away with a weary sigh and rubbed her temples.

"You got a headache, mistress?" Edith asked shyly. "Should I get water?"

"No," Marian murmured since no water could possibly cure the kind of headache she had. She wouldn't be able to get to Robin until earliest the day after tomorrow, and with all likelihood the hanging would take place next week. The sheriff liked to draw these kind of things out a bit, like a man sucking slowly on some rare delicacy to make it last longer. It was good, she supposed, that the sheriff had flaws, but until she could talk to Robin she would still have to bide her time. "I want you to get me linen," she continued thoughtfully as the embryo of an idea dawned on her. This embroidery was useless but that did not go for the entire area of sewing. "Go to the merchant on 'Seamstress' Alley', right at the far end. He got cheap cloth, and you shall choose it as if you chose linen for your own undergarment. Good and sturdy, but inexpensive. Get me enough for four or five shirts and put it down on the Gisbourne household account. Ask him not to specify exactly what you bought when he writes it down."

"Miss-mistress," Edith stammered with her constantly moving eyes wide open in fear. "Won't master notice? He'll want better cloth than those rags." The girl's terror was a child's fear for the wolf, primal and thorough, and Marian felt instantly sorry for her.

"It is not for the master," she responded, her voice brimming with authority since it would have more effect than compassion.

"Oh, but will he not check it?"

Marian twisted her lips into a wry smile and raised an eyebrow. Her posture screamed defiance and it did it with such magnitude that Edith found herself pulled in. People who burn with passion rarely burn alone. They become leaders and by their side people walk head on into the fire, trusting them more vehemently than they would trust themselves or the laws of nature. By their side people trust that the fire won't burn them, and in this moment the young woman's heart started thudding in anticipation. The fear was still there but it was the kind which made you crave for more rather than to shy away.

"No war has even been fought without risks," Marian stated simply, not bothering to add the stubborn 'or casualties', which tugged her conscience. "Can you embroider at all, Edith? Sew?"

"A wee bit, mistress," Edith admitted shyly.

"Good, then I may need your help. But I am _asking_ you for this, Edith, as a favour," Marian added sternly. "I am not commanding you. It may be dangerous. This is a favour and it is yours to give or decline."

Edith watched her in wide-eyes surprise. During her years of service she had never before been asked to do anything on her own accord. Now this road she was standing on was suddenly forked, not straight and inescapable. It was a strange feeling, scary because she suddenly was faced with a choice, but exhilarating. How could she possibly deny anything to this woman who treated her as a person with real thoughts and feelings? She gave the choice a thought just to savour the feeling of having a choice in the first place, even though the actual decision had been made in one fleeting moment. Then she nodded fervently.

"I'll do it, mistress."

Marian gave her a sad smile, knowing that this decision might cost the young woman, and forced away the rush of guilt. "Then I thank you," she said. "You are a very brave woman."

The girl beamed with joy as she curtsied and moved away towards the door with a new kind of energy in her wobbling steps. It occurred to Marian then what it was that Robin craved so badly when he bathed in the effects of his leadership. The sheer power of bringing that brand new fire to another human being was intoxicating, but as the Nightwatchman Marian's influence had always been silent and detached from her every-day persona. This was different. For this girl Marian was as shimmering as Robin Hood, and in spite of loathing herself for it, she felt the effect instantly. It was a nice sensation, but this game was dangerous and the girl might not live through it. With power came responsibility as sure as the moon follows the sun. A life in silent contemplation was little better than death to Marian, who had always imagined herself to go out fighting. Now all she could hope was that it was her neck on the line here rather than Edith's.

With a newfound fighting spirit Marian lifted the embroidery and put another stitch to the geometrical pattern. If she did not present a single result from these hours of sewing then Guy would be suspicious. She would have to sew fast, because together with Edith she planned to do two parallel jobs in this gloomy room. One was for show and the other, the secret one, was an act off stubborn insubordination. It was defiance shaped like a needle and thread, and though it may not save lives directly at least the resistance filled her with zeal. It was a purpose, and with that purpose came pride and a will to live. If she went down she would at least make sure she went down in flames.


	9. Chapter 8: Cave

**Chapter 8: Cave**

"This is a nice horse," Robin said as he placed his palm on Lady Marian's stallion. "Is it new?"

"It wasn't born yesterday," Marian dismissed the question. They were standing in the shadow of the cliff wall which formed the eastern side of the outlaw's current 'castle of choice', as Robin called it. It wasn't as much a cave as a fissure overhung by trees and boulders and between these the sun radiated down, forming big spots of light where flowers and grass stubbornly clung to life. The most appealing part of the hideout was the fact that there were many escape routs from it. A natural tunnel system had been dug into the mountain by thousands of years of underground water channels, and the outlaws were still exploring new parts of this exciting part of the local environment, as well as setting up traps and hiding ropes and ladders on strategic places. Marian had never been here before but you didn't really need to find the outlaws; they always seemed to find you. At the moment the bulk of the gang was sitting some paces away, pretending not to hear Robin and Marian's conversation but giving themselves away by being uncharacteristically silent and still. Marian's maid Edith were sitting rather awkwardly curled up a bit outside the group and looked like she was trying to melt into the cliff.

All things considering it was a wonder that they had managed to get the horses into this rather inaccessible hideout, but at the moment Marian wished they had just left them outside. The horse she was riding was Guy's and Robin was a born and bred nobleman. He knew Marian would never have bought an animal like this, in fact a merchant might even have been reluctant to sell it to her. It had been raised for battle and because of that it was worth a small fortune.

Robin hummed, his lips pulled into a cold smile. "Another one of Gisbourne's gifts is it? At least he doesn't try to buy you cheap." He stroked the animal almost mockingly across the fine, auburn fur as he waited for Marian to take the bait. She felt the moment turn sour like milk standing too long in the sun and it only took one look into her shocked eyes for Robin to instantly regret the accusation. He didn't know why he reacted so defensive, only that Marian's visit today hurt and everything they said made it worse. He had been missing her so much that every word was balancing on shards of broken glass. If she said something hurtful he almost shattered and if she annoyed him he felt an urge to rip the entire world apart. How were you supposed to meet under such conditions?

"Grow up," came Marian's response. Even to her ears it seemed like a childish insult, but Robin wasn't being fair. He had some nerve questioning her relationship to her husband when she risked everything to come here! "You should be glad my price is high. You were the wedding present after all, have you already forgotten that? What if Guy gave it to me?" she continued. "Will you have me refuse gifts from my own husband?"

"Trust me," Robin responded solemnly, "I am more worried by the things he takes from you than the ones he gives."

"What about the things I give him?" Marian shut her eyes and shook her head slightly, as if she needed to shrug of her armour of anger. This ridiculous argument only cost them valuable time. "I have something for you, Robin," she sighed instead. She went over to the gray mare Edith had been riding and took a package from the saddlebag, shoving it unceremoniously into Robin's chest to force him to take it. She was still angry. This was _not_ a peace offering and he had _not _won the discussion.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Well, it is not a horse," she smiled faintly. "A shirt."

"A shirt?" Robin pinched the package and shifted his weight as if he wasn't quite sure how to react. Finally he sighed. "Marian, we do not need charity! We are the ones to--"

"You need clothes as much as the next man, unless you plan of intimidating your enemies by showing up in battle as God made you," Marian scoffed. Her cheeks blushed scarlet and Robin couldn't stop a mischievous smile from forming in his face.

"Would you like that?" he grinned.

"You would catch your death," Marian stated coldly. "Someone has to think of the outlaws. Take it. I don't have them all ready yet. I don't want to make Guy suspicious."

"Marian, this is risky and pointless!" Robin burst out. His voice was edgy and sharp in spite of the leap of joy his heart made when Marian mentioned his wellbeing. She wasn't all cold then.

"I am dressing you with Guy's money. I thought you would enjoy that. Or do you only enjoy victory when you can rub it in?" Marian gave out a snorting laughter. "It's always glory isn't it? You cannot do anything without the stardom. Much! Will you come here a moment?" She was acutely annoyed now. The shirts might not make much difference in the end, after all Robin were a thief and could steal clothes just as well as money, but the _symbolism _mattered. It mattered to her. Wives made shirts for their husbands - had Robin been banished from society so long that he had forgotten all about that?

"It is risky!"

"Yes!" Marian snapped away the package from Robin's arms and defiantly handed it to Much, who had come running up to them as soon as she had called out his name. "It is risky, Robin, but I cannot live my life mollycoddled! The first one is for Much," she sneered.

Much's face became illuminated from the inside by surprised gratitude when he swiftly removed the coverings to reveal a simple, although surprisingly well-sewn, linen shirt. Then Robin's ice-cold glare caught up with him and his smile wavered. He looked worriedly from Marian to Robin as he hugged the shirt tight to his body.

"Have you sewn that?" Robin exclaimed sceptically, his hands on his hips and his posture tense and annoyed. "I thought you couldn't sew?"

"I happen to dislike sewing," Marian snapped back. "It doesn't mean I'm bad at it." She didn't bother to lecture Robin about the difference between making something useful and embroidery. The latter was nothing but useless beauty which noblewomen wasted their time on. She had always considered it to be part of the gilded cage which constricted the lives of women of status – something for them to occupy themselves with in order not to get any _ideas_.

"Thank you milady," Much stuttered silently with a nervous glance at Robin. "This is just--thank you!"

"See?" Marian stared at Robin with her arms folded and he head cocked. "Much knows how to act when faced with a gift."

Robin rolled his eyes. "I am grateful," he insisted, though his voice was hard and contradicted his words by conveying very little gratitude. "It's just—if Guy finds out--"

"That is a problem for a later day," Marian took a deep breath to restrain her irritation. "Besides, there is more to this shirt than meets the eye," she continued vaguely as she walked over to the rest of the outlaws. "Have you heard about the hanging?"

"Which one?" Allan slurred as if he was half-asleep. "The way the sheriff hangs 'em these days you'd think he's making a human windlass or whatever."

"There is one on Thursday, Allan," Marian responded simply. "The sheriff has decided to blame Robin's escape on LeChas and his mistress, a woman called Amice."

"The castle's defence stagiest!?" Allan snorted in disbelief as he opened his eyes to squint up at Marian. "Wha' - the sheriff's hanging his own now? That's a bit of luck! What's 'e up to, ey – trying to drive us out of business? Saves us a load of trouble if you ask me."

"What about the girl?" Will interposed.

"She should have chosen a different bedfellow, shouldn't she?"

"She is innocent in this affair," Marian interrupted the discussion. She decided it was better not to mention the fact that she didn't much like what little she knew of Amice Urry. It made no difference if the woman was strange and unpleasant. She _was_ innocent; wrong person, wrong place, wrong time.

Robin's gaze lingered a bit too long on Marian before he forced himself to tear it away and actually take in the words rather than merely listen to the sound of her voice. The sheriff was hanging LeChas? He was hanging him because Robin had escaped, none the less, in spite of having nothing to do with it! And the woman—he couldn't let that woman hang. This had all been_ his_ doing; his, Marian's and Gisbournes –what an unholy trinity that was. "It is our responsibility to help them," he stated trying to subdue the rush of guilt which battled with the longing for the woman who was less then five feet away from him. "We owe them as much."

"Robin, they are the enemy!" Allan exclaimed.

"They _were _the enemy," Robin clarified with one eye at Marian who still wasn't looking at him. He had to talk to her, hold her, no – talk to her. She would be upset about all this, surely. He had to say – to say something. She had said what she came here to say, that meant he was swiftly running out of time. Soon she would be gone again and he would be alone to ponder all the harsh words building barriers between them. "Now they are victims," he continued absently. "I will not have any fatalities from this sordid affair."

"This shirt," Much suddenly said, as he fingered on something on the garment. It looked like a spot to Robin and he briefly wondered whatever Marian had done to it. "This is--"

"Yes," Marian smiled tensely. "It has Vaysey's emblem on it. That is why it is not just a shirt. Vaysey has taken to marking everything used in the castle. I think it may have been another one of LeChas's brilliant ideas," she scoffed. "All Vaysey's employees tend to live under the constant threat of not being valuable enough, so the clever ones go looking for problems to solve. All of the staff wears these marked garments now. If you are to sneak into the castle they will be useful. I cannot help much with the execution of the rescue, but I can help you prepare it. If you let me," she finished with a tang of bitterness.

Marian's profile was tilted slightly in Robin's direction and he took a cautious step towards her.

"That is your choice to make," he murmured reluctantly, aware that he said it more to please her than because he actually meant it. He needed to speak with her before she left, he had to. The more he thought about it the more urgent it seemed. How could he sleep well if she was angry with him? If she left in anger then she might keep away, and it was so difficult for him to get to her. He edged closer again with his eyes on her soft white skin, the curve of her neck, the proud profile. She was impossibly beautiful and he wanted nothing more than to be close to her, kiss away the troubles from her forehead and feel her lips pull into a smile beneath his. The longing was so strong that he had to take a deep breath and force his eyes from her, only to notice that the other outlaws had dispersed, leaving him and Marian alone. Then she finally turned to him.

"I was worried," he said and threw out his arms. "I'm just worried. I'm sorry."

"I know you are," Marian responded softly, but when he moved closer she backed away. "I'm not yours," she reminded him. "We cannot. It will make it harder."

"Nothing can make this harder," Robin whispered, but gave in to her will by putting a distance between them - couple of feet of forest soil and raw air which felt like an eternity. The evening in the stable sprung to their mind simultaneously, the kiss and the sense of belonging together. In that one moment that Marian's resolution wavered by the memory she leaned in and cupped Robin's head with her hands. It felt like he was falling, Robin thought as his body unfroze and melted into her touch, eternally and helplessly with the wind pressing against his eardrums and his stomach flipping. He rested his palms cautiously on her waist and leaned his forehead to hers, to ground himself or to fall faster, he never quite knew.

"How is it, Marian?" he murmured in a trembling tone. "How does he treat you?"

"Fine. He treats me fine. He is never home – that helps." Her lips brushed against his, sending a shock of electricity through both their bodies. Then she pulled away, so fast that she almost shoved Robin away from her even though she had not intended to be so forceful. "I am sorry, I have to leave." She tucked a strand of hair behind her hear, her chest heaved and sunk beneath the dress, her hands shivered and every time her eyes met Robin's they jolted away, dodged from the threatening intimacy with a apologetic smile.

"You don't have to leave yet," he begged hoarsely. He felt heavy with emotion when he watched her. When he took a step towards her he did it slowly, like she was a wild hind ready to flee and he was the hunter, hungry and tired of lurking in the dark.

"I do, I have to," she insisted and backed off.

"Marian, don't--"

"I have to, I _cannot _stay! Can you not see that?"

He walked faster, his movements intense and determined without loosing the characteristic softness. Marian felt her heart pound harder in her chest when she met his pleading eyes. She wanted nothing more than to give in, and every sign of indecision in her posture spurred him on. Then his hands were around her wrists and she screamed.

It was a cry of frustration, but the agonized yell scared Robin, made him back off as if her skin suddenly burned him. He felt as if he had been woken from a trance and stood confused and awkward in the middle of the glen. He touched her and she screamed. His Marian! The realization felt like a stone in his stomach, weighing him down and stealing the words form his mouth. He wished to say that he was sorry but did not know what he was begging her forgiveness for. He wanted her so much, he thought and swallowed hard. _But you cannot ever have her._

"I have to leave," she said again, angry with her words for being so faint and trembling and even angrier with her body for still tingling with zeal. "I have done what I came here to do. Edith!"

This time Robin nodded sadly and she walked briskly away to her horse, making sure that the saddle and reins were properly fastened. Then Robin stroked the horse across its throat, feeling the strength of the magnificent animal which must have cost Guy a fortune, and held the reins as Marian sat up. When she left Marian could feel Robin's eyes on her back and she fought the impulse to turn around. It was a lost battle before she began. The feeling of apprehension still lingered in her chest, as she twisted her torso to watch the man she loved in the middle of his castle. He was leaning on his bow like he had done so many times before but there was nothing cheeky or mischievous in his eyes any more. If anything he seemed lost. Swiftly Marian turned forward again, taking a firm grip around the reins as she spurred the horse on through the narrow passage. Apparently she was not strong enough to meet Robin and remain detached, she mused glumly while the horse's movements gently rocked her.

The next time she might have to send Edith alone.

**-----------------------**

"Ah, Gisbourne," Sheriff Vaysey let the words bounce around the Great Hall of Nottingham Castle for a couple of moments before he continued. "I was expecting you earlier. Well," he looked impatiently at Guy who had stopped by the door and stood stiffly with one foot in the dark and the other in a rectangle of light formed by one of the small windows. "Is it done?"

"It is, Sir," Guy responded rather lazily as he stifled a yawn. "The woman insisted to dress before we could—relocate her. I decided there was no harm in humouring her."

"Slipped into something more comfortable, did she?" Vaysey drawled disinterested.

"Actually her dress of choice was a blue silk gown," Guy continued with a scowl. Truth to be told, the behaviour of Amice Urry as the guards came to arrest her had left Gisbourne feeling rather bewildered and uncomfortable. There had been no argument involved. The beautiful young woman's eyes had widened at first, until he feared they would pop put and roll across the floor, but then she had proceeded by very slowly making herself ready. She had done her hair up, perfumed and dressed herself in the finest dress, a meticulous and almost painfully slow procedure.

Guy still hadn't figured out if Amice understood what was happening, but when they had left her in the cell, which already was stuffed with female tramps, drunks and sleepers serving time for minor crimes, she hadn't as much as blinked. She had looked so odd thrown in amongst the dirty prisoners in what was known as the 'open' or 'communal' jail – a part of the prison to which the townspeople had access in order to be able to feed their caged friends and relatives.

The blue silk of Amice's gown had glowed and her skin was white as milk. A well-known drunk and petty thief by the name of Ratty Stevens, locked into the opposite, male half of the institution, had started rambling about the Holy Madonna appearing before him. By the time Guy left, the monks who were frequent visitors in the open jail - offering bread and water as well as forgiveness for every sin known to man and quite a few original ones - had been occupied with the rather daunting task of calming Ratty down. By the look of it they had very limited success.

"If you don't mind me asking so, sheriff, is there any reason as to why you wished her locked into the communal prison?" Guy continued. "It is hardly normal procedure to mix the damned with a pack of harmless scallywags."

"I thought it might be good for the morale," Vaysey responded absently. "Make them realize they are not immortal, hm? With any luck it will make them less inclined to annoy me henceforth." Vaysey sighed and drummed his fingers at the table which currently served as both footrest and general storage area for the mass of paperwork which he had been occupied with. "And LeChas? Did he wish to flounce around his prison dressed in blue silk as well?"

Guy smirked to himself. Gerome LeChas - that had been an arrest which Guy had enjoyed thoroughly. "No but he did whinge and screech like a woman," he scoffed.

In all honesty LeChas had every right so scream. His arrest had been cruel since Guy had given the guards direct order to use brute force and feel free to take the room apart. As a result the image which now sprung to Gisbourne's mind was satisfying beyond any what any words could express. Gerome on his knees, wheezing and weeping like a small child as the handwritten pages of his opus magnum – the great philosophical masterpiece which he considered his life's work – rained down around him in pieces. Some had twirled into the open fire and he had crawled over to get the scorched pieces of useless parchment out from the flames, burning his skin in the process. The view had been so pitiful and satisfying that Guy had allowed the arrest to take its time. After that the situation had improved even further by locking the man into the nastiest, darkest prison cell the castle had to offer, with free view over the richly equipped torture chamber. Yes, today had been a very good day for Guy of Gisbourne.

"—a clue – no," the sheriff said and tore Guy from his reflections.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The taxes, Gisbourne, the taxes," Vaysey sighed. "Please keep up with me, will you? The populous are once again debating the taxes. Why do they bother, I wonder? What on earth makes weepy leeches think I would listen to their collective moaning this time, hm? It is beyond me, this stupidity of the impoverished masses. If their head kept slamming into a brick wall do you think they would keep on walking?"

"No doubt they would try," Guy smirked.

"How utterly depressing," Vaysey groaned. "No pride."

"Indeed. If you excuse me sir," Guy drawled. "If we are done here I have matters to attend to in Locksley."

"Yes well, 'matters in Locksley' seems to have gotten increasingly pressing lately," the sheriff suddenly snapped with disturbing sharpness to his words. "Why is that I wonder? Has Marian been preaching human rights to the peasants and forced you to do all the harvesting yourself?"

Guy forced himself no to take the bite and start arguing with the sheriff, something which would only result in unpleasantness. Truth to be told Guy's biggest aggravation on this rather splendid day was the fact that Marian had once again claimed that she felt too unwell to come with him to the castle, and he had been wondering if maybe she was feeling neglected. She hadn't really warmed up to him since the marriage, always a bit wary and distant, and she did seem to have headaches rather more often than Guy considered—practical.

Perhaps she might be feeling friendly if he bought her something, Guy mused distractedly. It would be too late for the shops to be opened when he retuned home, but there was no such thing as closed doors when you were the sheriff's henchman. Whatever downsides there were to this job it definitely had its perks as well. Not working for the sheriff you might have hundreds of people giving you 'no' for an answer, but while you worked for him there was only one.

Guy's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of one of doors opening to reveal a castle guard. It was a pitiful specimen at that, Guy was swift to notice. He was sloppily dressed, tabard and chain-mail askew and the helmet, which was too small for the big head, had obviously not been unpolished as often as regulated. It nearly made Guy cringe to see the state of the man and know that he was under his jurisdiction.

"Sheriff," the guard slurred as he moved rather sluggishly into the centre of the Great Hall, "Uh—there's someone to see you. Says 'is name is 'John Doe'? Ring any bells does it?"

"John Doe," Vaysey jeered. "That is a name reserved for those who have none – a man unknown – and you ask if I know him. A--"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, 'a clue - no', right? Yeah, cause I get the clue, I do."

Guy glared at the guard before letting his eyes flick over to the sheriff, finding him dangerously quiet and certainly not amused. "Pardon, sir," he murmured. "I don't personally attend to the hiring of the castle guards. Shall I have him dismissed?"

"Well, he would hardly be missed, would he?" Vaysey snarled in a low tone. "For the love of God, I am surrounded by idiots!" He took a deep breath before continuing in a louder tone. "You are both dismissed," he commanded. "Send in Doe."

Guy scowled before he made a little bow and stalked trough the Great Hall, his steps echoing in the tall, narrow room like he was followed by ghosts. He wasn't quite sure he liked to be this easily excluded from the sheriff's affairs, whatever they were, but he had no other choice than following orders. He restrained a sigh as he saw the guard trying to open the door in the wrong direction a couple of times before finally figuring out how it was done, and made a mental note to make sure 'basic door-opening abilities' was included in the requirements the next time they hired. Surely the man must be either a drunk or a simpleton. If it wasn't for the fact that hiring new people was rather more expensive and time-consuming than to keep the ones they had, this guard would likely have been doomed by now. As it was Guy would simply have him relocated to the least desirable positions in the castle and let him regret his outspokenness for years to come.

The entrance to the hall was opened just as Gisbourne reached it and the man who appeared handed him the door as he stepped into the large room. Guy mumbled a brief thanks and allowed himself to take a glance of the man who called himself John Doe. He seemed almost annoyingly average. The slate-gray eyes, partly covered by a strawberry blonde fringe, were the only feature in the oval face which seemed even remotely memorisable. Apart from that he had the kind of look which gives you a vague sense of knowing him from somewhere, and thus the memory of his face became diluted and mixed up with all the people you felt he resembled. Perhaps it was merely because Gisbourne was a man haunted by his job, but as soon as he shut the door behind him every effort to remember John Doe called forth a picture of the cursed Robin Hood to his mind. The effect sent a cold shiver down Guy's spine, and the foul aftermath of the brief encounter remained with him even as he picked up a silk scarf for Marian and headed home.


	10. Chapter 9: Costume

**Right. this is weird. For some reason I found myself re-watching s1. Now I had not written fanfiction for ages and nothing in english either. Also this had not been beta read or whatever. I'm really finishing this fic beacuse want to know how it ends myself. :-p I have all these neat little pieces of it on my computer. **

**You can go along for the ride. If you like.****  
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**/Trixter, only albeit none the wiser****  
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**Chapter 9: Costume**

This is the day I die.

Today. This day. Death.

Amice Urry repeated the thought to herself almost pensively. It had lost meaning somehow, as if she had spoken it too often. Words sometimes did that to her. She would repeat them over and over until she felt confused about their meaning. Death. Death, death, death. Why was it called that anyway? It sounded weird. Life interrupted by a 'd' and a breath. Death. In another life she would have liked to write poetry. Now it seemed another life would never come.

She was still standing in the middle of the cell. She had been for most of her stay here, didn't want to get her pretty dress soiled. When she didn't stand she sat perched against the wall, a tiny spot close to the bars. She had traded a ring for a shawl but instead of wrapping herself in it she had merely sprawled it on the floor, folded it up like cushion and spent the nights freezing in the thin blue silk of her dress. The other inmates thought she was mad.

She let her long, pale fingers caress the fine cloth of the gown, gathering the shirt in her hand and savouring the feeling as it slid across her skin and fell down in shimmering folds. She recalled how it had looked on her as she had prepared for the imprisonment. In the mirror her reflection had seemed fairylike against the dusky room, something unworldly. She wasn't vain in the normal sense of the word, but ever since she was a little girl she had found a strange comfort in watching herself. As if the mere familiarity of her features were soothing in a way that her mother's hands never were. The value of people was something vague and insubstantial while the value of things could be measured and counted. Likewise, Amice had thus concluded in her blushing youth, if she was fair then she was also valuable, in a strictly material point of view. It was something which could be counted on. She still counted on it.

The door to the prison was opened and a couple of friars came into the hallway splitting the dungeon in two. Briefly light spilled into the cells, crisp and bright morning sun. Time was pressing on to her final hour. Always in a rush. She looked at the friars. One was very fat and seemed somewhat hung-over, the other a scrawny young man with a face scarred by teenage acne. She sighed. It was the wrong prison, this. Had she been kept in the real prison Robin Hood would have saved her a long time ago. She felt sure of this. He had met her once and must have felt the connection as intensely as she did. Now he would have looked for her blindly. Who hid a jewel among the trash after all? She had dressed for him. Waited.

"Well then Brother Gilbert," the fat friar said to his younger friend, sounding rather annoyed. "Here it is. You want souls to save? In his wisdom God have collected them for you." His eyes landed on Amice. "This one apparently dressed above her station." He turned to another woman in the cell. "I know that one; lady of the night. Hello Melinda. And next to her a beggar. Immortal souls ripe and ready for the harvest."

Brother Gilbert looked crestfallen. "Please Brother Tuck, I did not mean to anger you. It's just that we keep missing both Laus and Prime - and more often than not Terce as well - and sometimes you are not up until after Sext!"

"Bah, prayer doesn't need hours. How would one get anything done!"

Amice had been listening to the discussion without interest once she realized they were not, in fact, rescuers at all. Then the door quite unexpectedly opened again and two more friars stepped in, stopped and stared at the ones already present. They wore the same clothes. Same order then, but they didn't greet each other. Instead they seemed mutually confused. The two new brothers were rough looking, Amice noted. The one she got a good look at had a distinctive face with intensely blue eyes. He was the first to speak, and he did so with a broad accent and in a language which surely wasn't Latin.

"Paxus Vobsicus, brothers," he said grinning. "Looks like you beat us to it."

"Pax Vob_iscum_," Brother Gilbert responded scowling.

"Not being funny but that's wha' I said." He shrugged. "I'm Brother Felix, gents, this here is Brother Roy. Of the holy order that is…" Then the one he had named Brother Roy - who was still mostly cloaked in shadows - seemed to give him a rather annoyed look and he fell silent. Something in the way Brother Roy moved caught Amice's attention.

"Friar Tuck," the fat friar responded, "Brother Gilbert."

"God bless."

"And to you."

"I don't think I have seen you around before," Brother Gilbert said suspiciously. "Are you from here?"

"We're passing through." The sound of Brother Roy's voice caused Amice's heart to leap. She took a swift step forward, clinging to the bars and staring blatantly at the friar. Yes! Just a small glimpse of his face, but the brooding intensity was there and it spoke his nature. He reminded her of a cat; the way his voice growled and purred; the bold agility and deceptive softness of his lean body; how he seemed to seek the shadows and make them his own. Robin Hood.

The conversation between the brothers became blurred, melted into the background as she had eyes for him only. He turned to her then, giving her an almost invisible nod to reassure her. There was so much love in that short interaction she almost swelled over with pride. She had to be brave now. She had to help.

Softly she moved to the far corner of the cell, where the privy was located. It consisted of a bucket which always seemed half-full no matter how often they emptied it, and today was no exception. Some of the other inmates gave her suspicious glances but decided to move away rather than to question her. Being a recognised nutcase had perks. She lifted the bucket and carried it carefully to the bars, setting it down by her feet.

"Enough!" she shrieked. The conversation stopped and the two real friars turned to her quizzically. "I've had enough of your God! Has he not damned me?" Bother Gilbert paled but Friar Tuck merely sighed.

"Oh dear, and it is not yet Sext," he moaned. "My headache is not improving. I feel in the pressing need for more wine."

Amice ignored him. "I curse you!" At this she gave out a defiant roar and threw the content of the bucket at the brothers. It splashed on the floor, causing the male inmates on the other side curse and shout insults. Before she knew it they had replicated her move, throwing their privy bucket but aiming at the women's cell rather than the friars. The stench was suffocating. From either side of the prison inmates were scoping up mud from the filthy floor and throwing it at each other. Amice almost wept as she saw her beautiful dress get soiled. She slipped and fell as the cell boiled with the uproar. Someone had started to bang wildly at the bars with the empty bucket and behind her someone else was singing an drunken northern battle hymn in a raspy voice. In the chaos a man from the other cell cried about the blue angel, and Amice knew it was her he meant. Save her! Save the blue angel! Yes! Save me. Save me!

She looked around the prison, searching for Robin but couldn't see him. Then the guards came rushing in, cursing the stench and pointing their halberds at the cells without daring to come closer. It was then she realized where Robin had gone. He hand his friend came up behind the guards, hitting them hard before taking the keys. Robin tied the confused guards to the bars while the other friar opened the door of both cells. At this both sides of the havoc clashed with each other, pulling clothes and scratching each other as they tried to win the fight and the escape the prison simultaneously. Amice waited until she felt someone's hand close around her and she let herself be pulled outside. She was disappointed to realize it was the one who called himself Brother Felix.

"Bloody hell," he cursed. "Wha' did you do that for?"

She pressed her lips together. "Where is Robin?" she asked harshly. "He will worry for me!"

"Robin has business elsewhere," the man spat. "I'm Allan by the way. Allan-a-Dale. Mind you, 'e will have a world of trouble getting the plan in order now. Idiot!"

"I had to help! That stupid friar was suspicious of you; could you not see as much? Robin!"

"Don't!" Allan pulled Amice into an alley pressing his dirty hand to her mouth. "You shut it or we're done for."

She tried not to inhale the stench and turned her head to the end of the alley. Guards were moving swiftly towards the open prison, drawn like drones to the mother bee. She relaxed and Allan let go of her mouth.

"Sorry about that," he grinned. "Well maybe this will be good anyway." He scowled. "Plan was to free you first, then we'd dress like guards and move to 'elp your lover in the dungeons. It's an old trick, mind you. We thought it might work because the little bit of truth. There really was a break-out in the open prison." He shrugged. "You threw us off the time table."

"Oh," Amice frowned, suddenly scared. "Will Robin be in danger?"

"Well, danger is our middle name. We're outlaws." He grinned again. "Not being funny but we smell like shit. Look, I got a little mate o' mine down the Black Sheep. She could get us some nice clean clothes. You mind?"

Amice shook her head, wondering absently how big the chance were of a 'mate down the Black Sheep' having any blue silk gowns. At least she would be clean when she met her rescuer.

I will not die today, she thought as they slipped away down the alley.

I will not die.

Death no longer sounded as strange, now that it was once again far away.

The plan had not been excellent, but it had involved some rather time-consuming planning. Robin felt annoyed that it had been overthrown. He was moving rapidly towards the meet-up, not dressed as a guard, as he had expected, but as a reeking friar. The streets were in an uproar. He walked close to the buildings in order not to stir any attention, at the same time trying to asses the new situation. Guards everywhere! And where there weren't guards there were delirious prisoners who suddenly found themselves in unexpected freedom and realized they didn't know where to go. In some places both these groups came together; guards surrounding shrieking, dirty prisoners while trying not to get too close to the stench. It was chaos. Unfortunately chaos on the streets usually meant the castle guards tightened the external defences. It would be hard to fool even the worst guards now that they were in attention.

When he came to the meet-up Djaq, Little John and Will were waiting for him.

"What happened?" Djaq asked in a hushed voice, as soon as he came into earshot. "You stink!"

"I do," Robin admitted grimly. "The girl decided to 'help'."

"Strange kind of help," Will scowled, "Where is Allan?"

"He took the girl. We'll meet up by the cave."

"Change of plans then?"

Robin nodded. "I need to get out of these clothes."

Once dressed again in his normal garments and a rugged-looking mantle, Robin sat down in brooding silence. They could not risk the castle now. That meant they had to get Gerome LeChas into safety some other way, preferably on the way from the dungeon to the gallows. But where was the weak point? Would they take him right through the castle or around? They had not researched this and Robin had learned the hard way what lack of forward planning might cost you.

"Robin?"

Robin flinched and looked up, only to see Marian's maid stand cautiously before them.

"Edith? What are you doing here?"

"Marian said to tell you they take the back-way," she looked hesitantly at the outlaws, "Sherriff's barred the front. Like they bar it up like when it's all wild. Think he's scared, milord. Don't say I said so."

"What, that Vaysey is scared of his own shadow or calling Robin a lord?" Djaq asked with a crooked smile.

"Djaq," Robin reprimanded her lightly before turning to Edith. "Marian is in the castle?"

"Ay, is, sir. Is that wrong?"

"Wrong? Why would it be?"

"Not sure. You sound displeased, sort of."

"I'm not." Robin was silent for a couple of moments, forcing himself to focus on the matter at hand rather than the relative proximity of Marian. It was unexpectedly difficult. "Right then, that settles it," he said as he settled on a course of action. "Edith, Much is in the castle kitchen. He is dressed as a servant - got that shirt of with Vaysey's emblem. I want you to find him, tell him there has been a change of plans. Tell him not to feed the guards after all. Tell him to bring the food unspoiled to Fletcher's square. Djaq, Will, you will go out into the town. You will tell people there are free food servings by Fletcher's square. We want as many people as possible there. We want havoc. John, you and I will free Gerome. When the guards push though the crowd in order to get to the gallows, it will be easy to hide, easy to get away. We do not escape right away." He fell silent in order to emphasize the last point. "They will be looking for LeChas. We hide, wait until dusk. The widow Smith will let us stay with her pigs."

"Not the pigs again!" Will complained.

Djaq snorted. "You sound like Allan."

"Allan will be at the Black Sheep," Robin continued. "Djaq, go there once we got LeChas, make sure he doesn't drink too much." Robin fell silent, looking at the looming castle and felt a twinge as he remembered what treasure it hid from him. "Tell him to bring the drink back to the camp instead," he concluded. "Right then. Let's get started."

When everything calmed down Much would think back and remember that the plan really did go ahead smoothly. It was not uncommon, especially in the old days, that Fletcher's Square was used to give out free servings of castle leftovers on special days. It was for the poor but everyone considered themselves poor when there were free things being handed out. Of course, now almost everyone was poor for real.

This was a market Wednesday and the whole display with the guards and stinking prisoners had left the people of Nottingham in an unusually cheery mood. It was amusing since it didn't concern them. They came and filled up the area from Fletcher's square to the castle wall, queuing up to get some mostly cold stew and gossip about the morning's events. It had been easy to get Gerome LeChas out and bring him to the widow Mathilda Smith's famous pigs.

The pigsty was a common hide hole for the outlaws, albeit not a very popular one. They liked the widow, who was a defiant good-natured old woman, but her pigs were rather less hospitable. Huge animals with blotches of black on the pink skin; peering on Much with open hostility and some kind of resentful animal intelligence in the beady eyes. Will hated them even more, sitting with his back as far against the wall of the shed as he could.

Still, this would all have been good had it not been for the fact that Gerome LeChas was the most intensely boring man Much had ever met. For hours he drawled on about some magnificent opal or something, which apparently was a book that had been lost to humanity. He made the loss sound like some kind of doomsday which would condemn mankind to darkness. Then he went on to recite long winding passages about the fate of man in a godless world. Much didn't understand most of it, but even Robin seemed plagued.

"Won't he shut up," Will murmured next to Much and they shared a glance.

"I have never once wished for sun as I now wish for dusk," Much agreed. "That is the truth."

It was then that he remembered that he still had the herbs; the ones he had been supposed to sedate the guards with in the initial scam. Right there and then - amongst the pigs and the never-ending monologue - it seemed like a gift from above.

"Do it," Will sighed as he saw Much finger with the pouch. "John can carry him. Just shut him up, I can't take more."

So it was that they had to carry Gerome LeChas from the pigsty, and they had to wait until it was almost dark to not arouse suspicion. They couldn't go through the town gates with a man knocked unconscious so in the end they had to crawl over the wall, pulling LeChas up onto a roof with much swearing. Allan and Djaq would be back in the camp already, with the girl and the ale. This all seemed to Much like he had drawn the short stick of scheme. It was cold and a sleeping man was a heavy burden to pull over a castle wall.

It was when Robin tied a rope under Gerome LeChas' arms to lower him down on the other side that it happened. From nowhere a single arrow split the chilly spring night and dug deep into LeChas' chest. There was a thump as it hit its target then nothing. Robin was still holding Gerome from behind, two ends of a rope in his hands and a slightly stunned expression. Then he took his bow and they searched for cover the best they could. Moments went by, slowly, breaths shallow and fast, but no more arrows pierced the night. Finally Much allowed himself to look at the arrow. It was fletched with a red feather and on the shaft someone had tied what looked like a tiny note. It seemed ominous somehow; reminding vaguely of one of Robin's less popular way to send Marian love letters in the old days.

"Robin," he whispered, nodding at the note. Cautiously Robin lowered his aim nodding at Will to keep watch. He split the arrow – in the night that single sound seemed dangerously loud - and pulled the note form the shaft. He opened it for everyone to see and Much read the curly letters with a sense dread. There was a single line.

_I have begun._


	11. Chapter 10: Ale

**So readers, here comes chapter 10. There is quite a lot of Friar Tuck and Amice in this chapter. Remember that this is a post s1 fic, so the Friar Tuck is not the friar from s3 at all. This one is more like a fat, amoral, curious and rather sloppy drunk. Way more fun. ;-)****  
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**Thnx for the comments. Much appreciated.  
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**/Trix  
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**Chapter 10: Ale**

Albeit never a fan of cleanliness, Brother Tuck had felt compelled to take of his clothes after the adventure in the communal prison. The two friars had gone down to the river for a bath, after which Gilbert had stayed behind with the mucky garments and a sad little bar of soap. Consequently the elder friar was now wandering around in one of his friend's spare clothes. Brother Gilbert was a farmer's son and he had a way of 'nesting' even though his life was one of travels. Tuck was rather more pragmatic in his packing. Pragmatic, that is, in the sense that he didn't pack at all.

The robe was rather too small and showed quite a bit of Tuck's stocky legs. His limbs - pale and hairy as God had made them - were quickly becoming as greasy as they had been before the necessary bath. He didn't mind.

This morning Friar Tuck was not hung-over or, indeed, still drunk. The early sun seemed friendly and warm as he ambled around Nottingham town with sober eyes. Occasionally he handed out an overzealous blessing; discreetly mindful that gratitude was a currency as valid as gold in most places. It was nearly mid-day when he became aware of some kind of commotion down by the castle wall. People were flocking around one of the houses; heads cocked to the roof where two guards seemed to be manoeuvring something rather cumbersome. Tuck felt drawn to it and - never one to deny any his impulses - he joined the crowd.

"Steady," one of the guards shouted. "Don't want the stinker to burst open." As they started to lower their load to the street there was a collective gasp. A limp head with a halo of gray hair and a mess of disgustingly white dangling limbs came into view. As the corpse flipped over Tuck noted its chest was discoloured by a rust-reed stain of dried blood.

Tuck had seen enough bodies in his life to quickly become bored with the sight, and subsequently started to study the audience instead. Scanning one face after another – varying from the detached to the morbidly curios - a woman at the far end finally caught his attention. She was attractively dressed in the dapper clothes of a noble but without the usual haughtiness and wore a troubled expression. Her forehead was creased and her eyes inspected the area as if in search of something. It was her neglect to stare specifically at the body which sparked Tuck's attention.

Curiosity compelled him to walk up to her, but before he reached her side her focus was diverted by a maid. The girl was a skewed and clumsy creature with bandy legs; as if she had been torn apart and put together all wrong.

"Lady Marian," the maid greeted with a brisk curtsey.

"You are back," the lady looked around and led the maid discreetly from the main crowd. "Well?"

"Ay, all back, miss."

"All of them?"

"And Misory, mind," she nodded. "And it was just the one arrow too."

"LeChas must have been the target then." the Lady Marian frowned. "How odd. I wonder why." Tuck watched her walking back to the crowd again - casting a suspicious look in his direction as she did so. Instead of diverting his eyes he smiled gracefully with his hand on the rosary.

"Such horror mankind must endure," he drawled, "To see one who walked yesterday, today a shell, flesh discarded. Who knows where his soul is? It is lost even to me, my own self - a pious man."

The lady nodded hazily, taking caution not to stop too close to him. Her maid gawked at the friar a couple of moments before turning back to her mistress.

"Edith you see the ceiling by the far end?" the lady asked, "Something has disturbed it."

"Some guard maybe?"

She shook her head. "— would climb up that way - it is obscured from the street." They were whispering now, and it took all Tuck's attention to hear the breathy words. In fact, the name in the beginning of the sentence was merely mouthed silently. It looked like '_Obi'_."I do not think he was shot here," she continued pensively. "They have hauled something up that roof." Obin. Toby. Bobby. Tobin. Robin? "Come here Edith. Be quick."

The women took off so fast Tuck found it hard to keep up. They moved through a narrow alley; inspecting walls and ceilings but seemingly without finding anything of interest. Tuck had to keep a decent distance and had no way of hearing their words. _Robin_. It must have been, but could it really be Robin Hood she spoke of? With such familiarity?

The women exited of Fletcher's square. Tuck kept to the wall, pulling up his hood as he watched them. Then the Lady looked in his direction again and was visibly unsettled as she recognized him. Such a cautious lady - like wild deer caught outside her habitat. Interesting.

Tuck bowed discreetly and left the same way they came. The lady was apparently no stranger to paranoia. With good reason? He himself was no threat, but perhaps there were real hazards in her life. Who was he to know? By any accounts he would have to stay in Nottingham for a while, with all this incongruity going on. Tuck wasn't one to decline a nice mystery when indulgence was so much more rewarding. Especially not since this county was the home of Robin Hood.

Now all he had to do was convince Gilbert that they should stay for a while. That shouldn't be hard. The lad was a native of Locksley after all.

* * *

They were having a glum and awkward feast in Sherwood Forest that evening. Robin's mood had slowly unravelled during the day - doubtlessly with some kind of correlation to Edith visiting without her mistress, Much mused. Not to mention the whole LeChas debacle. The weather was gray and drizzly; coating the soggy forest in a glossy wetness and flooding parts of the camp. They had assumed that Amice felt somewhat crestfallen. Not that she had displayed anything but a dumbstruck, somewhat eerie ecstasy since she arrived to Sherwood. Something about her made Much very ill at ease.

Even though this was indeed a feast, Much found himself too preoccupied with his master's declining mood to enjoy it. Robin only ever drank excessively when he was miserable. Every time it ended in the same fashion; Robin bent over a bush, moaning at Much to never ever let him forget this. 'I'm never going to drink again,' he would groan, 'promise you never let me drink like this again!' Of course Much promised, he _always_ promised. Just like he always made sure he stayed fairly sober when he saw the warning signs. But what point was it to have him make such a promise when Robin never listened to him anyway?

"Would you like a glass of water, master?" Much asked; intent of keeping the promise best he could. He was rewarded with a sour look from Robin. "No? Well then, perhaps some goat milk? It'll turn bad anyway, if we don't finish it. I was going to make cheese but we just never have the time, oddly enough - considering we are essentially unemployed, I mean."

"I could do with some goat milk," Djaq slurred and gave Much an indignant glare. "Or water! I thought you said the water was harmful when it rains! Allan!" She looked angrily at Allan, who had been the one who had scorned the quality of the English water most vehemently. Djaq preferred not to drink alcohol. No wine, of course, and only occasionally did she make an exception with watery English ale. It was what people drank up here. Most of the time it was weak, but the stuff they had in their jugs today was what Allan referred to as 'prime stuff'. It burned the little Saracen's tongue.

"Why are you looking at me, sweetheart?" Allan grinned innocently. "No one drinks the water 'ere. Nah, English water is fishy stuff, everyone knows that."

"Who is this _everyone_, Allan? Is it the kinds of 'everyone' which people refer to when they cannot name a single person who actually shares this view?"

"Nah, just everyone. If it wasn't such a bloody waste people would go bathing in ale at Christmas time y'know."

"Give Djaq some milk," Robin interrupted the discussion, then continued murmuring; "Everyone should get what they want."

"Wouldn't that be pretty knotty if two people want the same stuff, and there isn't enough though?" Allan asked to the world in general in a rare moment of profoundness.

"Oh, don't bother," Djaq exclaimed irritated. "I'm sure it's too precious to waste on me anyway."

"It's in the kitchen," Much responded as he helplessly watched Robin pour more ale into his mug. "You can get it yourself."

"Kitchen?" Djaq asked sceptically. "We have no such thing."

"He means the bag by the cooking pot," Will pointed out and shared an amused smile with Allan.

"It is not just a bag by a—oh look," Much sighed. "How many times will I have to say this? _East_ of the sleeping area is the kitchen, west is the—the _ladies_—north is the general privy—though preferably very far to the north—and south is the storage. We must have some sort of order here or our life will be chaos!"

"We are outlaws!" Allan exclaimed. "Chaos is good. Without chaos we would all be caught and hanged mind you. Trust me. I've lived in chaos all my life and it never did me no harm."

"Trust you? I'd rather eat a rat."

The camp fell silent for a while, until Robin started to chuckle and they all burst out laughing.

"What?" Much exclaimed.

"Oh, Much!" Djaq called out, flushed and winded from the laugh which still rolled though her body like waves. She wiped a tear from her eye and took another sip of the ale, grimacing as it burned her tongue. "We had rat for dinner yesterday!"

"That was not rat!" Much exclaimed. "It was rabbit!"

"It was a rat, mate," Allan grinned, and the other outlaws nodded in agreement. "I've lived long enough in the hood to know a big, fat rat from a fluffy bunny."

"The hood?" Much looked sardonically at Allan who was currently, and rather ungracefully, stuffing his mouth full of bread.

"That's wha' the people call it," he responded lazily. "We're the _lads in the hood_."

"I think they say 'wood', Allan," Will pointed out. "The lads in the wood. Or the lads _with_ the hoods."

"Nah, cause it's a pun, right? Wouldn't be a pun if we were just the lads in the wood now, would it?"

"A pun," Robin spat with a bitter laughter which instantly killed the mood. "We give up everything and we—we're a _pun_."

"But I've never heard it, Robin. All I heard was good things."

The gang turned in surprise to Amice Urry, who had been sitting silently throughout the conversation. Much noted that her eyes were planted firmly on Robin, wide and amazed, like the eyes of so many women before her. He shook his head wearily. She would get nothing for her troubles. A kiss perhaps - or one of those appreciative smiles which Robin handed out like treats – but those women always wanted more. They wanted all of him; although Much suspected that they didn't truly know what that meant.

Too much of Robin was a burden. Too much of any person really, but Robin was worse because there was so much of him to have. You had to love him so much that when he fell, you fell with him. When he was impossible you had to put up with it and when he was wrong you had to dare defy him - but still always follow when he inevitably didn't listen to your objections. He has such a strong personality that he risked swallowing you whole, and sometimes you just had to stand against the tide of his will. He was always too much of everything, unbendable unless he wanted to be bent.

Marian was the only woman Much knew who had any power over Robin, and not even she managed to talk him out of anything when he had his mind set firmly on it. His determination could border on obsession and he did not waver or compromise until his own ways had proved to be a mistake. This woman was on a path towards misery and frustration, Much mused glumly. She would be better off finding some nice, sturdy man with a good, solid profession, but then again - _where would be the fun in that_?

For some reason Much cast a glance at Allan and found him looking oddly bothered; watching Amice with something akin to apprehension. It unsettled Much to the extent that he started to wish for a crude joke. Next to him Djaq was sitting in a silence and looked at Allan with unabashed curiosity. She turned her head at Much with a comment resting shallowly on her lips. In a surge of irrational fear he switched his attention over to Amice instead.

"You heard good things about us?" he enquired. "When you lived in the castle?"

"From the staff," Amice responded without flinching at her own lie. The staff had never talked to her at all. "The maid Edith," she clarified, because it was the only one of the staff who she could recall the name of. "And the others too."

"Edith was a friend of yours?" Robin asked her with his eyes intense on the small woman. Amice had the appearance of a flower sprawling out her petals to leap up the rare sunlight, Much thought. She nodded at Robin with an expression of awe plastered on her face. "Marian's maid Edith?" She nodded again. "Did you know her well?"

"Why?"

"No reason," Robin murmured and took another swig of ale. He seemed to sink into his own, dark thoughts once again, and Amice's features suddenly turned tense and displeased as she was fast forgotten by the outlaw leader.

* * *

"Fist I had love and wanted adventure," Robin slurred miserably. "Then I got adventure and wanted nothing but my love back. Now I think I want neither."

"You don't want Marian anymore?" Much asked puzzled. It was so late it was early and his head felt fuzzy. The rest of the gang were fast asleep but Robin was apparently just reaching his philosophic phase.

"I wish I didn't," Robin sighed wearily. "I'll never have her now, will I? Never. Such a final word; never. I didn't use to believe in never. There was always more time... How can the lack of something take up so much room?"

"You make no sense, master."

"I feel sick."

"Of course, you would," Much sighed. He was tired. He wanted to go to bed but it was his responsibility to be here. Well, perhaps not responsibility as much as—as something he felt he should probably do. Even though he didn't get paid and Robin never seemed particularly grateful for his efforts. "We should take a walk. Get this out of your system."

"Much," Robin groaned, "I'm never going to drink like this again. Promise…"

"Yes, yes, I promise. All will be well, master. We'll just take a turn into the forest and avoid soiling down the kitchen."

"Kitchen?" Robin managed to look sceptical through the ale fogs.

"Yes! Kitchen," much sighed exasperated. "I told you – east of the sleeping area is the kitchen. We're in the kitchen!"

"It doesn't matter," Robin muttered. "Nothing will ever be the same now."

"Well, we can still have a kitchen. Just because life is an eternal, upwards slope though impenetrable darkness doesn't mean you have to live in a mess. Come now. Miles to go before we sleep, master."

"I can take him."

Much turned around and found himself staring into Amice Urry's gray eyes.

"I owe him," she smiled shyly.

"You do owe him actually," Much reasoned and felt a guilty wave of relief. "I mean, he did save your life."

"I don't need to be taken by anyone," Robin murmured feebly, but his face looked gray and nauseous. Much shrugged at Amice.

"It won't be a very pleasant walk," he excused his old master. "Are you sure you want to?"

"I often went for suchwalks with Gerome," she assured Much and walked up to Robin in order to help him rise.

"Yesterday wasn't any of out better missions, was it?" Robin sighed as he grabbed hold of a tree and slung his other arm around Amice.

"Why not?" Amice asked baffled. "I am safe."

"But LeChas…"

"Oh," she smiled. "That is alright. I do not mind. Do not worry about it."

She was a nice woman, after all, Much mused as he went to his bed. Disturbing, in some vague way, but very helpful. Perhaps they needed a woman in the camp.

* * *

"Did you love LeChas?" Robin asked as he slumped down by a silvery trunk, seemingly oblivious to the muddy ground. Wet brown leaves covered the floor of the beech forest and even though the rain had stopped it would take time for the dampness to dry up.

"Love?" Amice smiled. "Oh no. Do you feel any better?"

Robin shrugged and leaned his head to the tree. "It is not fair," he muttered. "People should be allowed to marry who they chose. They shouldn't—if they don't eve—don't even like the other person. Much is right. The world is wrong."

"Oh, but I was not wed to him," Amice gasped. "Please do not think that to be the case! I am still a maiden."

"Even so," Robin said. "There are others not so lucky."

"You are talking about Gisbourne's lady? The one who came to the camp?"

Robin gave out a dry laughter. "Her name is Marian. Not Gisbourne's lady. She doesn't belong to him! She does not even like him."

"Oh but she does. She does like him," Amice responded quickly. In the back of her head a faint voice asked her how these fictitious words could roll off her tongue like they had no weight at all. Yet the voice was weak and her conscience offered no resistance. She felt sure this might – _must_ – be the truth, even though she had no way of knowing. Robin's thoughts had to be diverted from this pitiful noblewoman. "He is handsome," she continued under Robin's scrutinizing eyes. "He is—he has money. He cares for her. He is powerful. She smiles in his company."

"How do you know?" Robin frowned in disbelief.

"I've seen her, heard her," Amice lied. "She told me. I wondered like you do, how she could marry him, but she seemed," Amice almost spilled out the phrase 'in love', but realized that she was taking it too far. "Content," she continued instead, "she seemed at ease."

"At ease?" Robin murmured miserably. "I do not believe you."

"Do you call me a liar?"

"You don not know her. She doesn't even know herself." He smiled softly at some thought, which Amice instantly loathed since it was inaccessible to her. "She has been forced to pretence. But she is bold."

"Why do you care so much for her?"

"You do not understand," Robin snapped. "I do not care for her. What I feel… this is…" He cut the sentence short, as if losing track of his own thought. "Marian is an important ally to the cause," he slurred instead. "Without her there would be no Robin Hood. There would be no Robin."

Amice frowned. Talk about not knowing oneself! Robin obviously did not yet know that his heart belonged with Amice. All the little moments they shared - the looks and thoughts. She planted a kiss on his cheek and stroked him over the clammy hair. He didn't seem to take much notice. This in itself was - she felt sure - a sign of how comfortable he was by her side. He heart skipped a beat.

"Poor Robin," she murmured. "You look so tired."

"I am tired."

Gently Amice guided the exhausted outlaw's heavy head down towards her lap. He made no resistance; merely gave out a sigh and curled up like a child. He fell asleep almost instantly. After some time the night grew chillier and Amice took off her scarf to drape it over the shivering outlaw. He was mumbling and twitching, as if haunted even in sleep.

"Where are you going?" he suddenly called out. Amice flinched, but when she looked down Robin was still asleep. His eyes were shut and his lips tense. "Come back," he groaned. "Don't go!"

Amice planted her hand on his head and shushed him, stroking him gingerly. "Hush my love," he smiled, her fingers numb in the cold night and her lips trembling. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise. I will never, ever leave you."


	12. Chapter 11: Discipline

******Hello readers. So here is the next chapter. This week i have been working on a sort of crude outline of the fic so that I won't leave any loose threads in the end. I expect it will be something like twenty chapters, probably 22 or 23. **

**Enjoy,  
**

**/Trix  
**

**Chapter 11: Discipline**

"It was a planned attack." Guy of Gisbourne ended his short recapture last Wednesday's events.

"Well, at least LeChas didn't get far," Vaysey replied with a sardonic pout, "It is a comfort. No harm, hm?"

"With all due respect, LeChas' death is surely the most troubling element," Guy scowled. "Hood cannot have been both the shooter and the rescuer. However we look upon this we have two players and neither is wearing the Nottingham seal." He looked at the sheriff who was stroking a quill and smirking. "You do not seem troubled by this," he established, "You know something."

"Tut-tut, Gisbourne," Vaysey responded. "Do you feel left out, hm? Didn't the big kids let you play with them?"

"No at all, I assure you," Guy snarled, "It is just that my guards are unsettled. They do not whish to be struck down by an unknown foe."

"Well, what is a guard's life, hm? Such a trifling, dispensable thing. Do remind them of that, will you?"

"Yes, sir," Guy murmured. Truth to be told he was unsure why the guards seemed so troubled by LeChas' death. Ordinary murders took place in Nottingham every now and then after all. They were getting weak. "May I be excused, sir?" he said instead. "I have matters to attend to."

"Yes, yes. If you see Marian, give her my thanks, will you?"

"Why?"

Vaysey lifted a crudely embroidered pillow from bench by his side, cuddling it like a child clinging to its favourite toy. "Look at the handicraft, hm? A true testament of all the virtues of womanhood." He put it down unceremoniously on the desk and his stance turned mildly threatening. "Oh, and if she did find something interesting while doing her own private investigation into the LeChas case, please tell her to report it. Kind of her to help."

"What?" Guy frowned, his eyes darkening.

"Didn't she tell you? She was sniffing around the scene like a little dog."

"Did she," Guy growled and drew a deep breath through his nose.

"Indeed she did," Vaysey replied. "Don't be blinded, Gizzy. The Lady Leper's tongue is still as forked as ever," he leaned back in his chair and waved his hand dismissively at Guy. "You are excused. Shoo."

* * *

Guy was furious when he entered Locksley Hall that evening. The room, he noticed grudgingly, was cold and dark; a miserable forlorn place. Marian had neglected to have it heated. Sometimes he felt like the house had been more alive when he lived there alone with his guards. He had used to think that Locksley needed a woman, but it seemed that was not enough to make it home. It still felt like an occupied space, someone else's residence under siege.

He paced back and forth in the spacious room. She had made investigations? Into his case - the LeChas case? He banged his palm into the wall. What kind of wife was she? She had married him under duress, he thought with a pang, not out of appreciation. It had been a woman's seedy little plot to save Robin Hood. And he had agreed. Why? He had told himself that the deal had been a wise one; a golden opportunity. He could always kill Robin later, but when would he have another chance to subdue Marian?

Yet he was not so sure now, with the distance of time between himself and the choice, that it had been a decision of the mind alone. Had not his heart foolishly leaped in joy over the prospect? Had it not betrayed him in that moment when he needed his wits the most? Time and again he had hoped against hope that she would learn to love him if he only had more time. As a dream it was a vain one, as all dreams were vain. If he had learned anything from life it was that dreams meant nothing. Actions alone paved the path to progress and victory.

What infuriated him most was that she still acted like she was a victim. As if it was he who had forced himself on her. She! If anyone was a victim was it not he? He had done her a favour, and instead of gratitude she was constantly displeased and gloomy. All he had done, the gifts; the love he showed her; the constant consideration. All was in vain; the futile act of petting a wolf in hope of turning it into a dog. In truth he had known she would never return his love. It had been obvious ever since the punch in the church. The insight was a chilling one, cold as death to the touch and laden with despair. He had learned to fear it, unwilling to acknowledge the truth because it finalized it in a way he could not accept.

Dejected he plopped down into the high chair which had once belonged to Robin's father. Guy's parents had spent their final days dwindling away in a town house, crammed in between a butcher and a wool merchant. All the furniture which should have been in Gisbourne Hall had been stapled against the walls, gathering dust and loosing their polish. Once a day the wife of a pig farmer had come by to do the dirtiest chores; such was the only help they had afforded.

The Gisbournes had begun their decent well before Guy was born. They lost the good will of the king and the church both and gambled away what little was left. In the end they sold off Guy's heritage, piece by piece. His mother's wedding chest; the tapestries; the silver and the silks. When his father finally died Guy had put his mother in a nunnery and sold the rest to pay off the debts and the gift to the nuns. As far as he knew she was still withering away with her prayers.

He had risen from that at least. Sour by the memory of his parents he looked over to the kitchen door and found Edith greeting him with a curtsey.

"You," he jeered. "I will have wine and a plate of something to eat. Be brisk about it! And get my wife." He looked around the room. "Stop!" Edith halted and turned back to him with the expression of a rodent facing a hawk. "Light the fire and the candles first. This place is a like a grave."

He watched as the maid walked around the room and turned it into an image of domestic bliss; cosy and warm with a sparkling fire and an appetizing supper. He cut a piece of an apple with his knife and fed it to one of his hounds. The old dog ate everything with the same fervour and gave his master a look so full of gratitude Guy felt embarrassed on his behalf.

"Idiot," he snarled at the animal before cutting it a piece of cheese as well. "At least you know the value of loyalty."

When Marian finally joined him it was nearly nightfall. She was flushed and her hair had come undone, her blue eyes lively and crisp. Guy felt a jolt of desire which annoyed him as much as it excited him. It made him weak, this want. He did not whish to be weak.

"Where have you been?" he said darkly, voice low and dangerous.

"I took the white out for a turn. We went to Knighton and back, it is a good ride." She was out of breath as if she had been running from the stables.

"You visited your father?"

"It was a quick visit," Marian's smile was edgy. "Surely you have no objection to me seeing my father?"

"None," Guy agreed. "Except that he is an enemy of our benefactor. I do not whish my wife to have divided loyalties."

Marian snorted.

"What?"

"My father is an old man. He wishes nothing but to live out his life in peace."

"As do I." Guy's tone was cold and unkind and he made the words sound like a veiled threat. He could see Marian becoming increasingly restless.

"I something the matter?" she asked.

"I am not sure you were in Knighton. I have no proof thereof."

"Would I lie to you?"

"Marian," Guy put down his cup and inhaled deeply, "I met the sheriff today. He told me you have made investigations into LeChas murder."

"Investigations?" Marian looked sceptical. "I have looked around. It is curiosity nothing more. It is nothing."

"The problem is that you seem to spend most of your time with this kind of drivel, rather than caring for your house and your husband. You are not a girl anymore," Guy scolded. "As a woman you have duties. If your father neglected to teach you as much then I think I do have objections to you seeing him."

A defiant spark lit up Marian's eyes. "My father taught me well," she snapped. "He taught me how to handle an estate and I will tell you Locksley is in a mess. I have looked over the accounts and spoken to the villagers. The farmers are forced to exhaust the fields under your direct orders. They need to be rotated, surely you know that? Some fields lay barren now…"

"Fields," Guy bellowed. "You talk about fields? You cannot even keep the house properly heated!"

"I released the men to help with the repairs of the mill. It seemed the decent thing to do since we were not at home to enjoy the fire anyway!"

"Marian, I am warning you..."

"Yes, so it seems."

"Even now the sheriff has his doubts about your loyalty, wife," Guy hissed and hugged the half-empty cup of wine. "He has you watched. I can only protect you so far and only if I wish to do so. You are biting the hand that feeds you." He inhaled deeply. "The fields are being exploited according to the sheriff's orders. These are the conditions for which Locksley was submitted to me."

"The sheriff," Marian spat, "Why do you put up with him? He is vermin!"

"Watch your mouth! We all have our duties, Marian. A farmer may not like toiling in the fields, yet he does toil. I would think my loyalty to my lord should appeal to you. It is the base of my wealth, _our _wealth. You should be grateful that my position in Nottingham is a favourable one."

"The sheriff's fields lay barren," Marian's jaw was set tightly, her eyes fixed in cold contempt, "and if my prayers are heard, then so am I. As God is my witness, I harbour no wish to bring more Gisbournes into this world."

White with fury Guy hurled the cup into the wall. Marian didn't flinch. Instead she stared stubbornly at her husband, chest heaving in shallow breaths and hands knotted into tight fists.

"You are my wife!"

"Not by choice."

"Choice!" Guy sneered. "You had your choice, even if you wasted it to save the life of a scamp. The day you agreed to marry me by the Church door you surrendered your will to me. It is your duty as my wife to stand behind your husband, and in return I will care for your wellbeing. God does not applaud insubordination within his holy sacrament!"

"Nor does he applaud cruelty."

"Have I been cruel to you? Have I not sheltered you? Have I not kept my part of the bargain? Is it not crueller to repay me, as you have, by praying to the angels that my bloodline breaks with you!"

"We both know that you will disown me before that happens."

"And that gladdens you? You would rather live out your days in a nunnery than be true to a man who offers you the world?"

"The world is not yours to offer, Guy, nor is your world one I desire."

Guy pressed his lips together, his face pale and taut with rage. For a moment Marian thought he would let it drop, but then he walked up to her with so much force that she backed into the wall. He followed and she did not have time to shelter herself before his gloved hand slapped her across her face. The blow left her with a burning sensation on her cheek and a ringing which faded slowly like an echo in her ear. Her shout of surprise had been cut off by the pain, and when her eyes met Guy's her mouth was wide open in shock. Guy's breath was cold and sharp against her face and his lips were pressed together to a tense line of fury. He held her arms so hard that she had no way of escaping the confrontation. _Too far_, she mused behind the pain and terror. _I took him too far_.

"It is my right," he finally answered, "as your husband, to- _discipline _you, when I see it fit to do so. Do not think I am beyond using that right, Marian. You may look innocent but I know you." He jerked her towards him them pushed her back into the wall with a force which pressed the air from her lungs. "Always—_remember_—that I – _know_—you," he hissed between clenched teeth before he let her go almost as violently as he had attacked her.

Once the confrontation was over they stood awkwardly some distance apart. She was watching him with something akin to pity and somehow it burned worse than her scorn. The realization of what he had done had started to dawn on Guy, yet his feelings were jumbled and confused. Violence was immediate satisfaction, a rewarding surge of power which could not be denied. But there was guilt as well, and it was worse now because in spite of everything he cared for this woman. He had so longed for her elusive love. She - the angel who he had once looked upon as his road to redemption. How tainted and fallen she stood before him now.

"I will go to bed," Marian finally broke off the silence. "It has been a long day. Do not visit me."

"Marian…" Guy shut his eyes, trying to hold on to the thoughts as they slowly settled. If they parted in anger then that anger would slowly sizzle until next they met, and so the swift decline of their marriage would continue forever on. In spite of the lingering anger he let in the shred of compassion which was buried deep inside him like a thorn.

Marian turned as she walked away, looking at Guy with a small, hollow smile. "Yes?"

"I am… glad you have looked into the tending of the farm. I have no training in such matters." Guy hesitated. "We will invite your father to dine with us tomorrow."

"It is finally New Gisbourne then?"

"The correspondence came though this morning. The sheriff has been handling the matter and the papers states clearly that Locksley will be renamed. I will go to London in a fortnight to authorize the papers." He had whished to ask her to come with him, but now he found it might be better not to. Perhaps some time apart was what she needed to feel more at ease with the situation. Perhaps it was what he needed to regain control of his emotions.

"I am glad," Marian smiled, "Truly. It matters so much to you. Goodnight Guy."

As Marian went to her chambers she was plagued by thoughts of her own cruel words. Her defiance seemed childish in retrospect, but whenever she imagined any other response it had the shape of a lie. What she felt most strongly was not regret, but frustration. She had wishes and longings as strong as any man's. How come they didn't seem to matter to the world? Exasperated she shut the door and barred it.

She had to watch her mouth. If she acted the good wife, took care of Locksley – or New Gisbourne – then she would not anger Guy. She had seen a softer side of him, one which she might be able to reach if she kept calm. She knew that there was a whish for redemption even though he appeared unable to understand the concept. It was a very thin line she had to walk on. On one hand she had to be a kind and dutiful wife, on the other her heart refused to settle into this life. Perhaps it was denial, but she found it impossible to accept that this was the end of all her ambitions. She could not stop fighting and still remain Marian.

Perhaps when Guy was gone to London she could have wind beneath her wings again; if only for a short while.


End file.
